A Light at Dusk
by SpicedPumpkin
Summary: The Civil War of Skyrim has unfurled fully into a region wide conflict, as the war for the Twilight Realm suddenly takes a brief pause. When a strange Imp finds herself torn from her home not only once, but twice, she's left with little choice but to follow the lead of the Dragonborn.
1. Chapter 1

The rain trickled idly outside the Tavern's shutters. A swift breeze stirred the trodden leaves with effort – the whipping winds unable to reclaim the fallen fond from the chilly forest floor. Inwardly, the elf sighed; another day spent cooped up within this quiet town. She idly twirled her autumn hair between her thin fingers, lost in thought.

The days were slow as the rainy season took Falkreath. She had trekked far to reach here, at the Jarl's request. And for what? To bring him a bottle of mead? She furrowed her brow, rubbing her temples. She had spent a week and a half on the road from Whiterun. That was a week and a half she could have used climbing the 7,000 Steps.

If she could muster the courage, that is. In all honesty, her bravery was a face she wore when she had nothing left. Looking into the glass, she could see her own reflection. Her amber eyes gleamed against her fair face, pointed ears and slightly angular chin encouraging a hint of beauty. She was a Wood Elf, which she hated – if only for the implications it brought.

Her mind turned to home, to Valenwood. She had not long ago abandoned the traditions that long plagued her mind, and the insults the Nords carried with them. Well, the few who cared enough to note them, if only to see a stir of fire from the spritely lass. She clenched her head in her hands, hiding her ears. Covering the signs of her being _different_, an outsider.

Her brain filled with the memories of her journey north, to visit the grave of her lost Mother – and the family tomb within the borders of Skyrim. It was a long journey that her family made a tradition of visiting once a decade, and this would have been her third. And she did it alone.

Her father passed in a skirmish with the Aldmeri Dominion months before. Her mother – a Nord – had passed of fever during the last visit. Being so close to her true home, it was only fitting that she was buried in the Nordic tomb of her father and mother. Her family. Her people. Where she belonged.

Without her Father to keep her company, and with the small land they owned seized by the Dominion, the little Bosmer had little left to her life in Valenwood. And when she came to Skyrim to be free of the Dominion, she found herself caught in a civil war.

"_Then I will fight the Dominion, and reclaim my homeland." _She thought, all those months ago. "_I have paid my respects. There's nothing left for me here."_

Making her way South towards the border, she was caught in an Imperial ambush. The memories stung deep in her mind, the turmoil and suffering from the Imperials a rather fresh wound. They had stripped her of her belongings, shattered her Father's Bow into pieces. Beat her. _Molested_ her. They claimed her as part of the Stormcloaks, and for that, she would be executed at dawn.

And with dawn, came death from above. Her head on the chopping block, in her ragamuffin clothes – an ancient dragon swooped down from the heavens above, and brought death like the breeze beneath its wings.

Its voice was like a mighty hurricane, the explosive tone ringing across the land and giving her just enough space to slip free of the Executioner's Ax.

With little options left, she followed a Nord – Ralof – as they escaped the burning ruins of Helgen. And that's when it happened.

An Imperial arrow struck her in the shoulder, piercing her clean through. If she didn't have the Stormcloaks pulling her to her feet, her head would have been cut free from her shoulders.

A hand gently touched her on her bad shoulder, a bar maid giving her a forced smile. As they do with all customers, it seems.

"Would you like anything to drink dear?" She feigned, holding a large pitcher in her right hand. Her senses tingled at the smell – it was definitely mead.

"Yes." She supplied bluntly. She withdrew a few septims from her small purse on her side, dropping them in the Server's hand as she filled the flagon up.

She hated mead. Mead mead mead. It was all they drank here in Skyrim. Mead. Ale. Wine. She wanted milk, but that wasn't as common as she liked. And being half Nord herself, she found plenty of cravings for bread, cheese, butter, vegetable pottage – but never for Mead.

At least she didn't follow the dated Green Pact. She had faith in the Nine Divines, as her Mother raised her to be. Against her Father's wishes, who wanted her to believe in the history of her homeland.

Yet the word "_Cannibal"_ was thrown at her more often than not.

Sipping from the liquor slowly, a bolt of lighting flashed across the sky. Her ears perked, counting the moments before the sound clashed against her sensitive ears.

Thunder boomed. The door swung open to the tired in, an older man stumbling inside. His coat soaking with the fresh rain.

"Is Bastrii Duskhollow still here?" He called to the Tavern Keep. He glanced at the Wood Elf, who had turned in her seat. The man immediately approached her, grabbing her arm.

"You're the Dragon Born, yes? Come with me. It's important."

Bastrii looked up into the green eyes of the man before her. She pulled her arm free, a bit defiant.

"How did you know my name?"

"Word moves faster than feet in Skyrim. I have a life on the line and you're my last chance to save it."

Bastrii looked into the Nord's brown eyes. His gray-tinged tawny beard hung a bit loosely, his voice hoarse. The absolute desperation that clung to his face drew a moment of sympathy from the young girl.

"I'll collect my things. How far?"

"Northern road, about half an hour trek on horse. Please hurry."

He let her go, and Bastrii set to work gathering her belongings.

Returning to her room, she strapped on the loose plates of leather, her green traveling cloak. Her bracers, one with a broken strap. Her bow she restrung the night before. She slipped the quiver comfortably beneath the cape, throwing her traveling hood on as she added the padded leather to her pants. She didn't have a sword – none of the ones in Skyrim seemed to fit her smaller hands – so she carried an iron dagger on her hip.

Hefting her pack onto her back, she settled the weight of it on her legs. It was sparsely filled with provisions, as she wasn't strong enough to travel heavy. Luckily, with the help of the local blacksmith in Whiterun, she had crafted a lightweight, thin leather tent to help stave off the elements.

He stood by the fire, waiting for her return. When her door slid shut after her, he quickly made his way to the stable. Bastrii had to jog to keep up – her short height getting the best of her.

The door of the Tavern slammed against against the frame from the wind behind them, as the man quickly hopped on his horse. Bastrii followed, scrambling to sit as his heels kicked into the equine below. The horse nickered and made its way at a trot.

"I never caught your name." Bastrii said, as the wet sound of hooves against the ground mixed with the pouring rain.

"Rolf. I am Rolf. I'm an Alchemist of sorts, but… this is beyond me."

"And what exactly is that?" She asked, her curiosity killing her. She hadn't questioned his request, but now that there was a moment to spare…

"I have an injured… creature, of sorts. In my home. It looks like a Daedra, like some form of Scamp. But it speaks Common and… well, you'll see."

Bastrii frowned. Daedra? She didn't know much of anything about Daedra. Only that they were typically evil.

"Why me?" She asked. Indeed, why her? What could she do?

"I have tried literally everything else within my power, and contacted many hands for help. But nothing works. If you can't solve the riddle of this… creature's ailment, then I ask that you at least put her out of her misery."

"Her?"

Rolf nodded, the horse cantering up the path slowly. "She sounds like one, at least. I can't tell without invading her privacy."

_How noble._ Bastrii thought. _A __Nord with respect._

The minutes seemed to trickle by as the horse stumbled on the slick of the roads. Falkreath was dangerous when the slopes were slick, and mudslides seemed to be an often concern for the folk who resided here. A clearing soon broke the dense foliage of the forest, as the duo broke free of the leaves and entered an avenue of simple homes. Several carts lined these roads, laden with fresh produce ready to be shipped to town. The seventh home – the last home – seemed strikingly small in comparison. While families could live in the large shelters close by, the last house seemed to only hold one room.

The horse entered the nearby stable, as they both dismounted. The ping of the rain on the farm tools around mixed with the rolling wind sent shivers down her spine. The late winter rain always stung the most.

"Let's be quick. I doubt we have much time left." He said, stepping to the door. Bastrii followed close behind, clutching at her dagger. Just in case…

The heat of the warm room quickly washed away her worries, as the young Bosmer scanned the room with her eyes. There stood many shelves lined with odds and ends, books and pictures – a table that housed a plethora of herbs and potions that seemed to emit an earthy aroma. There, by the hearth, sat a large pillow – stuffed with hay, and on it rested the form of a small Imp.

She entered quietly, taking off her hood with a flick of her wrist. The cloak followed, as she approached the being.

Looking over the creature, it had no obvious wounds. Its flesh was a deathly gray, her body enshrouded in a blanket. She had a few black markings that put emphasis on her form against her white hair. She wore it in a pony tail, of course; a strange, gray helmet to the side. She inspected the item carefully for a moment, frowning. It looked like some kind of ancient artifact. Something about it put her off.

Setting it down, she turned back towards the imp. She placed a hand over her head, feeling for a temperature. Stone cold. Obviously not good. Her other hand withdrew the blankets, inspecting her body for anything that seemed out of place.

Maybe her Magic could help her. She didn't study much, except for one school – Restoration. She breathed in slowly, taking the air of the earth into her body as she channeled the magicka inside of her. She shaped it, held it. Breathed out as it took form in the shape of golden beads of light.

The magic flitted into the small creature slowly, the Bosmer's heart hammering in her own ears as she began to feel the powerful drain. Her senses dulled. Her mind went hazy. The magic flickered before coming to a stop.

She gasped in a breath she didn't know she was holding, as she slumped forward, her head throbbing as the old man spoke behind her.

"Restoration Magic? Very rare, even in times of War. Stay right there – let me give you a poultice." He looked over to the unconscious Imp, giving off a warm smile. "And something to eat. For the both of you."

Bastrii's eyes fluttered open, as she looked upon the Imp. Her colors had nearly inverted, her form filling with color. Her skin turned a delicate shade of blue, her dark skin turning black against the linen pillow. Her eyes turned to slits, looking up at Bastrii through the exhausted haze. Small, blue runes marked her arms – her black leg, and her ears. Her hair had turned a fine shade of orange, yellow, and red.

"W-What?..." The Imp said, before her eyes slid shut. Bastrii worried for a moment, until she saw the slow rising of the creature's chest.

Her head sent shocks of pain through her body, her limbs shaking a bit from the intense cost. Soon, she felt a vial pressed to her lips, the muffled voice of Rolf telling her to drink.

Slowly tipping the bottle back, she consumed the blue potion. She closed her eyes, letting the stars behind her lids settle as the pain dulled partially.

"Restoration magic is the most dangerous form of magic. Not because it harms others, but because it harms oneself to use it. How did you come across a spell like that?" Rolf asked. Bastrii slowly got to her feet, her world spinning.

"My father was injured and dying – I learned healing magic out of desperation. I'm afraid I wasn't quick enough. He passed on my first attempt at healing him. The infection was too much for him to handle, and the local alchemist was too overwhelmed to aid him. If I had just another hour, I wouldn't be stuck in this Talos-Forsaken hell hole."

Rolf cringed at her sharp words, but didn't interject. He had no idea the struggles she's faced. He set out a bowl of a heavy beef stew, a carrot resting on the surface. Bastrii picked up the bowl in her hands, holding it in her grasp as her hands idly played with the spoon.

Her head hurt. Her body felt weak. She slumped back into a nearby chair, clutching the soup before her.

"I'm sure you'll recover in three days time. Magic that strong is sure to drain you." Rolf said, returning to the downed Imp. He looked her over, placing a hand on her head to check her temperature. Tilting her head up, he took a hold of a bottle to her side. Gently, he eased it to her lips; forcing the small character to drink.

"I don't know why you would put so much effort into an Imp." Bastrii said, watching the spectacle from her hazy eyes. "She's probably a weird Daedra. She doesn't belong here."

In her mind, the food and effort could have been put forward towards hunting. Farming. Maybe reinforcing the home, daily chores. Gathering herbs and other things to help treat people who matter. At best, an Imp would probably see his house burn.

"I don't believe it. I used the word 'Daedra' to describe her – but there's something more to it than that. Daedra don't speak common, and she doesn't match many of the descriptions."

Bastrii nodded, mulling it over.

"And what will she do to pay you? I don't intend to be rude. It just seems a bit too selfless for me."

"Nothing. Sometimes, the reward is knowing that I've saved a life, and that's all that mattered."

The Bosmer sighed to herself. It's one thing to spare a bit of effort here and there, when she could. But from the looks of it, he's been wearing himself thin over this tiny life. But the words… they did touch her in a way. She didn't often consider the lives of others, only her own.

"And what of you, Bastrii? You came to help me when I'm sure you've much more important things to do." He gently stirred a nearby pot containing the stew, as Bastrii finally convinced herself to take a spoonful. It was robust and hearty.

She began to think it all over. Why did she come all of this way, when she could have started towards High Hrothgar the other night? Why invest the time and effort to help people, for nothing in return? Why even go see the Greybeards, why not just… move on, and head home to fight the Dominion, like she wanted to?

The visions of the mountain danced in her head, taunting her. Subconsciously, she huddled up a bit closer, afraid of the cold. Maybe she should just leave.

"No comment." She replied, eyes down.

Rolf went back to the stew, eventually retrieving a bowl for himself. He settled in on a nearby chair, kicking off his boots to let them dry by the fire. Minutes passed as the steady beat of rain and the crackling of the flame filled the room, the small Imp stirring under the sheets.

"She's coming to." Bastrii said, eyeing the potential threat carefully. Slowly, she withdrew her bow and placed it to her side, watching. Rolf simply sat still, seeing the pile of blankets twitch – eyes unmoving as his hand slowly slipped another wooden spoonful of soup into his mouth.

The Imp sat up, eyes blinking timidly as she drew in closer to the fire. Her moves were slow and tense, as she looked around the room. Her vision snapped to Bastrii.

"You?..." The Imp said quietly, almost in shock. "Link?"

"Uh..." Bastrii looked at the Imp in confusion, as the little being rubbed her eyes.

"Oh. You're not Link. Where _am_ I? Who are you?" She said, in a quiet voice. Rolf's gentle cough caught her attention, drawing a wide eyed stare from the small being.

"That would be Bastrii Duskhollow, the Dragonborn, and the one responsible for your awakening. And I would be Rolf the Green, of Falkreath. I am the one who fed you and kept you alive the past week, until Bastrii's healing magic could revive you."

"_Falkreath?_ Where is that? That doesn't sound like anywhere in Hyrule." The Imp said, hesitating for a moment.

"Falkreath is one of the seven major holds in Skyrim, Skyrim being one of the several countries across all of Tamriel. I wouldn't suspect an Imp to know this, but I would ask why they would question it." Rolf said bluntly, sizing the small being before him. "Furthermore, from my knowledge, I have no idea where this 'Hyrule' is, but I doubt it's on Nirn. Maybe within the Realms of Oblivion."

The Imp blinked slowly. Bastrii took this moment to interject.

"May I ask what your name is?" She said, slowly slipping her hand back to the bowl of stew. The little creature took a moment to answer, giving her enough time to take a bite.

"Midna. I am Midna."

For a moment, Bastrii simply focused on the food, rolling the name around in her head.

"That doesn't sound Daedric to me."

Silence filled the room, as this 'Midna' righted herself on the sheets of the makeshift bed, finding the bowl before her. Giving it a curious sniff, she ladled a spoonful into her mouth.

"This tastes like Ordon food..." Midna whispered to herself.

"Midna, if it's not a bother, maybe you should give us a little more information. Anything you're comfortable with that would fill us in? Like… where you're from." Rolf said, with a reassuring smile. His gristly beard finally dried out, making him seem a bit more approachable.

Midna bit her tongue. She seemed to be holding back, her eyes flicking between the two before speaking.

"Hyrule. I am from a land called Hyrule. I wasn't born or raised there, but I live there. I lived in a town called… Ordon. With my friend, Link."

"Link? An odd name for an Imp, I wager." Rolf thought aloud. "Does he look like you?"

"Well, no – he looks more like… you, Bastrii? That's your name, right? Bastrii Dusk whatever. He looks like you, except more… manly. Strong. Well built."

Bastrii furrowed her brow. So a Wood Elf, huh?

"So he's a Bosmer. I see. You must have been something he Conjured, and perhaps when he tried to do some form of banishment to return you home, the spell backfired and instead sent you halfway across Nirn. That is, if a place called Hyrule even exists." Rolf summed up his thoughts on the matter rather fluently.

"Conjure? No! No no no, I'm not a familiar, or a conjured… creature. I am… _me!_ I'm just cursed to look like this. I'm not some kind of spell."

"Well, you definitely don't look like one. Short, orange eyes, runes on your arms and legs – pointed ears. You don't look too Daedric in nature. You look more like a construct of a being, nothing of this world, nor any beyond." Bastrii said, stirring her stew. She had already picked out most of the meat. It was more so instinct to eat the meat first for her.

"What's a Daedra? What are you two talking about?" She spat, her eyes glaring up at the duo. Rolf chuckled.

"Calm down, Midna. Daedric means something summoned from Oblivion. Oblivion is a realm of fire and death, and there's nothing fiery or deadly about you. Well, except possibly your attitude – but that remains to be seen." The older Nord smiled, tipping back his bowl. Bastrii simply watched the Imp for a moment more, remaining mostly quiet.

"_Quest complete." _She thought to herself, mimicking Rolf as she drained her bowl. She thought about asking for a reward for her effort, but it wasn't too bad all together. She earned a free bowl of stew, a potion to help offset the Magicka sickness from strenuous use, and perhaps a contact with an Alchemist who might be useful later on.

Midna growled, but didn't spit back. Instead, she took to her bowl of stew ravenously. Seeing the progress the two before her has made with the meal inspired her to catch up, and she quickly wolfed it down as Bastrii focused her attention to Rolf.

"Well, it seems as if my work here is done. Thank you for the meal, Rolf, but I have to start moving. I'm terrified of what comes next, but with the return of the Dragons, there isn't much left for me to do but… I guess, face my destiny."

Midna dropped her bowl, looking between the two before her. She spotted her helmet, and quickly dragged it over, standing up a bit too fast for her body's liking.

"Destiny? Hold on, you're leaving? Where are you going? What's going on with the Dragons and… what? Just, everyone – hold on! I need to go home!"

"Home? Hyrule sounds like it's on a different plane than ours." Rolf said, cutting the conversation into more manageable bits. "If anything, you should worry about recovering. As far as I know, you're probably stuck here.

"Next, the dragons of ancient times have returned, and are wreaking havoc on Skyrim. Bastrii is Dragonborn. In her veins flows the blood of dragons. Because of this, she can use the Thu'um – or the voice of Dragons, to call upon their power. Only a Dragonborn can match the sheer destructive force of one of Alduin's clan.

"It would seem that it's Bastrii's destiny to ascend the 7,000 steps and approach the wise Greybeards, who speak in the tongue of Dragons, and put these creatures to rest."

Bastrii fumbled for a moment, rubbing the back of her head. "You know quite a bit about the Dragonborn, Rolf. I'm more so shocked you knew it was me back in the Tavern."

"It's no secret that the Jarl wanted someone powerful to claim them as Thane. Who else but the Dragonborn? I only caught your name because of a few castoff Imperials, who seemed to be hunting for you in particular."

Bastrii cringed. So her bounty wasn't cleared. The Imperials probably want her dead, thinking she's part of the Resistance. The Stormcloaks, on the other hand, rescued her from Helgen, offered her companionship and food, and saved her life. Amid this Civil War between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, she seemed to be stuck at an impasse.

Rolf coughed, interrupting her train of thought.

"The Dragonborn is a well known legend in Skyrim. If you don't let on that you're the chosen one, then you'll probably be able to blend right into the crowd. Just keep your head low, and you should be able to make your way past the Imperials with ease.

"But my recommendation, Bastrii? Join the Stormcloaks. If we don't push the Imperials back, we'll be under the thumb of the Dominion before you could pop the cork to a mead. That is, if you have the time to help."

Bastrii's eye twitched at the mention of the Dominion.

She stood up, slipping her gear on with a nod. "I'll consider it. Right now, I have a lot on my mind, and a lot on my plate. I need time to think. I'm going to make my way to Ivarstead, and see just how terrible that mountain really is."

She fastened her cloak and equipped her bag, opening the door.

"Wait."

Bastrii turned, the drizzling rain against her back. She looked to the little Imp, who stood on her legs freely.

"I'm coming with you."

The wind gently rattled the shutters as Bastrii shouldered her bow.

"Can you keep up?"

"I can. I've kept up with probably the most intensely paced companion in all of Hyrule, it shouldn't be a problem. And I have a few tricks up my sleeve, as well."

Midna slowly began to hover off of the ground, blinking in concentration. She suddenly dropped onto her legs, falling flat on her hind end.

"My magic… it seems so distant." Midna grumbled in frustration, slowly making her way to her feet yet again.

"That's because it _is_ distant. The source of your magic must be incredibly far. If you relied heavily on it before, you might have to change your pace to match what you have." Rolf nodded thoughtfully.

"Rolf, why are you so smart?" Bastrii turned to the old Nord. He gave a short bark of a laugh, the first genuine one he made since the Bosmer met him.

"I used to attend the College of Winterhold. I'm Rolf the _Green_ for a reason – I've developed Alchemy techniques that modern scholars fawn over. I retired here to be closer to nature, where I gather my herbs, and to be the healer for this humble Hold. Haven't you noticed the signs? Look around my home. See the books? They're more than just decoration, my friend."

Bastrii turned a thoughtful eye over her surroundings. She noticed the books – dozens of them, precious in their value as they lined the shelves. On many book cases rested vials of potions and poisons, ingredients and tools. If she had the time, she would have sat down with him and learned a thing or two.

Midna hovered over to Bastrii's side, looking her over.

"What are you?..." The Wood Elf asked, as the Imp tossed the flap of her large travel bag open. She quickly slid inside, pushing with her arms to make room.

"Until my magic recovers, I can't fly all the time, nor use my power to blend into your shadow. For now, you're going to have to carry me."

"How about no? Walk. And… blend into my shadow?" Bastrii said, shaking her pack.

"I can't. My legs in this form are too small. Just… do it. I need to get back home, and you being Dragonbird or whatever is my best bet." Midna closed the lid of the pack down, curling up in the warmth of the leather satchel.

"Rolf, you've got to be kidding me. You can't let her do this."

"Well, no, she let herself do this. I'm afraid I'm no longer involved in this matter. It's just you and Midna now." He smiled, giving a hearty laugh. "Oh, and please, be sure to visit me when you can. I'd love some company."

"I'll try-hey!" Bastrii yelped, as Midna withdrew her hand from her pointy ear.

"Enough chitchat! Let's get a move on already; those legs aren't going to walk themselves!" She giggled, before vanishing back into the pack.

Bastrii sighed. What has she gotten herself into?

* * *

Hello everyone! A few notes before you continue reading; I will try to follow the lore of the Elder Scrolls series as closely as I can. There will be a few exceptions here and there, and many more errors, but I'm not all knowing in the Elder Scrolls Universe. I have about 15 tabs open right now just to keep track of it all!

I'm still in the progress of writing this story, but I already have two more chapters available - one fresh off the presses (which I need to go over), and another I gave a quick read through (could use more work). I don't want to publish anything that isn't ready to be read, but I do want to publish on a consistent schedule.

My writing style is probably a bit weird for some. I typically write as if you, the reader, can understand on some level what the character is thinking. I also expect that if you're reading the story, you know enough about at least Twilight Princess to know about her struggle, so I don't have to have a long introductory sequence where she explains it.

This is a slow progress, character development and world building story. Bastrii - the Dragonborn - was chosen because out of all of my characters, I felt like it made a lot more sense that she would try to leave Skyrim than stay within it. I don't want to paint her as brave without reason. Expect few exceptions to be made here and there to add more flavor, or to skip long travels without time skips.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking at her map under the shade of a rock face, Bastrii used her compass to help guess her location. Cartography was not her strong suit, but navigating the wild _was_. If she could just figure out where she wandered to, she could take a deer trail through the dense underbrush and make her way towards Arrowflash Pass. Or, to some, Ambush Pass.

Bastrii often wandered who named those little alcoves, and the thoughts that led up to it.

"What's taking so long? The sun is going to set soon! Don't you know where you're going, oh mighty _Dragonbird?"_

_ "_It's Dragon_born_, thank you. And yes, I do know where I'm going, just-"

Suddenly, a large orange hand from above snatched the map and compass from her fingers, making her gasp in shock.

"Let's see here… ah, yes. I know where to go."

Bastrii was silent, waiting for an answer. When none came, she spoke. "And that is?..."

"I'm pretty sure East."

"You're pretty sure East."

Midna giggled. "Well, if we went any other direction, we wouldn't be heading towards that pass you were mumbling about, now would we? Just head east, and follow the mountain until you find a road. I'm pretty sure it will be deep in there somewhere."

Bastrii sighed and groaned, heading forward.

"And make it fast! Anymore rain and it might slip into my pack."

Bastrii bit her tongue. At first she was afraid of making her way up the mountain. And now? After dealing with Midna for the past several hours? She'll fight her way through a dozen blizzards and a horde of dragons to dump her on the Graybeards. If the Graybeards have anything to offer other than '_good luck'_, of course.

The forest began to clear as Bastrii followed the deer trail through the steady downpour. As the trees broke up, the rain settled and a dull glimmer of hope filled her heart. There may be little light, but at least she's not trudging through the soaking rain for another hour. The minutes ticked by as the sun settled down the horizon, night swiftly kicking in.

With little choice left in the matter and dusk overtaking her, she set her pack down as quickly as she could to get the process underway. An angry yelp reached her ears, forgetting about her new travel companion in the briefest moment.

"Hey! Watch it, you could have hurt me! I'm not just some toy, can't you get that through your thick skull?" Midna yelled, tossing the flap of the bag open.

Bastrii glared as the Imp shot out of the bag, hovering unsteadily before her. "It's not even night yet! You can still see, keep walking! We don't have time to waste on _another_ break."

"We're camping. I need rest. We've been trekking all day, and I need to find out where we are on the map."

"You can rest later. Camping now is stupid. The weather isn't that bad, you're already dressed – let's go."

"Midna, I'm not going to wear myself down to stick to your imaginary schedule. Time is important, yes, but I can't fight if I'm dead tired."

The Imp glared icy daggers at the Bosmer.

"You remind me of Link much too much for my own liking. The only difference is that you snap back more than he did."

Bastrii ignored her, finding a nice nook nearby as she unrolled her light leather tent and her bedroll. She assembled it all quickly, setting to work on gathering sticks and nearby fauna to build a fire before the last of the light is gone.

The pile ready, she withdrew a flint from her pack, striking the blunt of her dagger against it. She pushed the kindling in, hoping that it wasn't too wet to be useful.

Several frustrating minutes passed, as the Imp sat with her arms crossed on the bedroll.

"Just give up. The chances of you getting that fire going are about as likely as you being half the companion Link was."

Bastrii rolled her eyes back for a moment, clenching her teeth as she tried to fight for composure.

"Who is this Link you talk so fondly of?" Bastrii said, striking the flint again. If she could distract Midna with questions, she can't bite into into her ears with annoyances.

Midna stumbled for a moment, bumbling with her words.

"Link is… my friend. He is a really quiet man, strong. Resilient. Nearly tireless. And courageous beyond reason. He put his life on the line so many times just to save his friends, Hyrule is lucky to have him." Midna stared, her eyes a bit distant. Thinking of her close ally, now potentially worlds away.

"So you've been traveling like this before, huh? He must have been having _such_ a wonderful time with you. He must be _so sad_ that you're gone."

The fond memories were sapped from her mind at those biting words. She was quickly brought back to the reality of the situation. Hyrule was out of her reach, and with it being so far gone, so was her home. Her powers. Her Life.

"You can stop talking now, Dragon_bird_. Get your stupid campfire going. I'm going to sleep. Hopefully whenever we reach that mountain I'll have come up with a plan to return home."

"Thank the Divines." Bastrii whispered to herself. How did she come across such a horrible travel companion? Why is she the one cursed to deal with her?

The flint struck true and sparks rained onto the fine hairs of tinder before it. They gleamed brightly, a hint of smoke raising from the bundle. She breathed slowly into the forming ember, tucking it in a neat pile as a hearty flame was soon roaring before her.

"_Finally._"

She returned her flint to the pack, reaching in to find a ration.

Her brows furrowed as she took out a loaf of bread, half eaten. She glared at the Imp, who was now sleeping comfortably in _her_ bed roll.

Groaning to herself, she tore off the bit that Midna had been consuming, and tossed it into the fire. She pulled a nearby log to the side, gently resting it before the flame as she sat on top. Off of the soaked forest floor.

Tonight wasn't going to be a good night's rest..

And indeed, it wasn't.

Dawn slowly broke the horizon, as Midna sat up in her bedroll. Stretching, she gave a tiny yawn as she reached for her magic.

Oh.

Finding it still weak, she managed an idle float – though much more steady than the day before. Luckily, the relic she wore on her head graced her with the powers contained within, but it didn't give her Magic. It gave her raw strength in the form of a hand from her head, when she needed it.

Breathing in, she tried to cast her familiar shadow magic once again. Her mind honed in to the darkness around her, pulling at its tenacity and incorporeality.

A flash of the malevolent energy formed in her hands, and they turned briefly to shadows, but not much else.

Midna groaned in frustration. It wasn't the first time, nor the last, she would do so. She let the magic trail away, running her hands over her unprotected head.

Her ears flicked. Where was her Fused Shadow?

A brief moment of panic filled her senses as she spun around in the tent, looking frantically for it. She almost cried out, until she spotted it on the blankets nearby. She didn't take it off, did she?

Speaking of taking off, where was that Hylian? Shouldn't she be asleep in here, too?

Midna brought herself free of the warm tent, looking around the clearing. The trees were a bit more sparse in this part of the forest, but it was still denser than Ordon. The foliage seemed different than what she was used to, and she quickly felt torn from home.

The morning cold bit into her, and she held her arms for warmth. The bushes rustled quietly, and her head turned to the distraction.

Bastrii backed out of the brush, tugging with her the heavy corpse of a deer. A whole deer. Antlers and all. Its lifeless eyes stared into the trees, the girl pulling its body near the campfire.

Midna winced at the sight. Its torso had a neat cut down the center, the contents of its chest empty. Her previous partner, Link, had killed and skinned rabbits before, but she's never seen a full deer mid-process. It almost made her sick.

"Oh. You're awake. Good Morning." Bastrii said, paying her little mind. "Want to help me make your new bedroll? Seems like you'll need some clothes, too, with where we're going."

Midna was silent, watching as the girl withdrew a length of rope from her pack. She pulled the deer to an unencumbered tree, splaying its legs to the open air and lifting it up high. Her knife came out, and she set to work skinning the creature. The viscera of the moment caught up to Midna, and she heaved by the side of the campfire.

"Hey! If you're not used to gore, puke in the bushes. I have to cook there!" Bastrii yelled, rolling her eyes. Oh, the little Imp could _definitely_ keep up. "I thought you traveled?"

For a moment, Midna kept herself to the side, simply breathing. Bastrii resumed her work, fuming a bit. The Imp can't walk, can't share, and now she can't stomach a corpse? She must be green behind the ears.

Her companion floated to her side, watching with morbid curiosity as she worked. "I have traveled. But I haven't seen an animal like this treated so… harshly. Link is merciful, and doesn't eat much beyond small game. Besides, it shouldn't take long to reach the top of a mountain, huh? I can't imagine being very far."

"Midna," Bastrii began, sighing. "Skyrim is a very big place. It was a bit too dark to see the mountain through the trees last night, but now that dawn is upon us, maybe you should fly up and check?"

Midna nodded, ready to prove herself right. She floated up along the tall pines, the bitter chill of of the wind blasting against her uncovered body. At the very top of a tree, she stood – clenching the tallest branch with her hand.

To the East, towering before her in the distance, was a massive mountain. Probably the biggest she's ever seen in her life, bigger than anything she's ever seen in Hyrule. It felt so close, yet… when she looked at the details, she realized just how far of a journey it was. They had dozens of miles of terrain left unchecked, and looking up at the sky, it appeared as if another storm was headed their way.

Thunder roared in the distance, and she quickly slipped down beneath the trees. Bastrii had just finished skinning the deer, resting it over a large log by the campfire. She took her knife and began to run it across the fleshy side, scraping off stuck fat and membrane.

"Midna, will you pull the brain from the skull for me? I'm going to have to do a rough job and brain this during fire tanning."

"Brain?..."

"Yes, mix it with water, and grind it into the flesh of the pelt. Keeps it soft during and after a fire tan. Haven't you learned anything from that Link you've been talking about? Or do you just sleep in his backpack, too?"

Midna glared at Bastrii. Okay. Challenge her, that's fine. She can laugh that off. But don't bring her friend into it.

Bastrii offered her a bowl and a thick knife, which she took without hesitation. If some little Hylian girl can do it, then so can she. Making her way to the corpse, she looked over the lifeless head for a clear point of entry.

She considered going for the eye. But they looked at her, and she really didn't want to… pop it. If that's what happened when you poke an eye with a knife.

She looked at the throat. It was cut horizontally across, a deep slit that lashed the arteries beneath. Below it was a vertical line that went down to its hips.

She hesitated for several moments, Bastrii's knife stopping mid scrape.

"_How can you not understand the basics of skinning an animal? Nearly everyone hunts for themselves or their family."_ Bastrii thought, silently standing up. She made her way beside her, taking the oddly shaped knife from the Imp's hand.

"Okay, I'll teach you. First, you want to take the knife, and run it clear across the base of the skull, like this."

She quickly circled the curved knife around the neck, exposing the spine with a few deft movements of her hands. "Next, you take the knife, and turn it upside down so the blade is facing you, and you bury the tip of the knife into the column of the neck, here."

The tip pressed against the bone. "When you've got a good angle, turn it to get some room, then slam down and forward. Like this."

She brought the knife horizontal, the tip digging deep between the vertebrae. Her free hand slammed into the hilt, popping the spine upwards as her blade went forwards, severing the spine as the head came loose. She grabbed it by the antler, turning it upside down.

Midna gagged.

"Now with the tip of the blade, following the spine upward from the inside and pop it in. Then you twist, until this fragile section of the skull follows… like this..."

She pulled a piece of bone free from the head. "Then you brain it. Like so. Take your knife and sever it at the base of the brain. Try to avoid the last vertebrae, as it can dull the blade or even chip it. Just dig out this piece of bone, and then you slop it into the bowl."

She did just that, pressing the gooey brain into the wooden bowl with ease. Midna could take no more. She quickly turned away, finding a nearby tree to gag in peace. Bastrii could only click her tongue, bringing the bowl and skull to the campfire.

Taking the skull to the flame, she rested it over the embers – the antlers resting to the side away from the heat. She set back to work on the pelt, keeping a wary eye on the sky.

Midna soon returned, looking a shade pale, but less distraught than before.

"Back already? Good. Then you can mash the brains. Fill the bowl about halfway up with water before you do." She handed her the bowl, gesturing to her pack with a flick of her eyes. "There should be a pestle next to the canteen."

"Why? Why do we need… blended brain to make a simple bedroll? Isn't a bit of fire enough?" The Imp avoided eye contact with the goo-filled bowl, holding it shakily in her hands. She was used to a bit of gore, but nothing to this extreme.

"It softens the leather and makes it flexible. We're going to be drying out a lot of the moisture in the flesh, and the brain contains a lot of fat. This will soak oil into the skin and keep it loose, more so than just rubbing raw grease into it."

Midna sighed, rolling her eyes as she made her way over to the pack. Why did _she_ have to do this? Why couldn't that damn pointy ear _girl_ do it? She was half tempted to just toss the brain at her and leave on her own.

But something told her that leaving an… _Elf_ with survival skills to run off on an adventure was a bad idea. Especially considering she had no real magic to speak of. And she had no leads. Bastrii was at least going to head up into the mountain to talk to some ancient light dwellers about the dragons, and if she knew anything, it's that wise old men know more secrets than most.

She found the pestle, and quickly set to work. Her hair morphed into a magical hand, with the aid of the Twisted Shadow she wore as a helmet. She used it to hold the brains, breathing in a deep breath as she steadied herself for what's next.

Okay. Water. She poured in just a bit from the canteen, until the… _thing_ was floating. She corked the bottle and dropped it on the bag, holding the pestle in her hands. Shakily, she pressed down into the brain with a wet _squelch_, closing her eyes as thoughts ran rapid through her mind.

A creature's life, its memory, all of those moments of survival, exploration, love, and instinct. All in her giant hair fingers. And she was grinding it to a pulp with some bone. If this had been months ago, she wouldn't have cared. She would have done this easily, without a second thought. Who cares what happened to others, as long as she had her way?

Now? She felt a bit guilty.

But mostly grossed out.

"This is the most disgusting thing I've ever done, and that includes everything vile that happened in my journey with Link." She said to herself. Bastrii's ears flicked.

"At least I didn't ask you to help me make string from the sinew. I didn't sleep much last night, so I had plenty of time to bind some by the fire. Just in time, too – much longer and I'd have to stitch your jerkin with dense bindings."

Bastrii quickly set up a few loose branches, a good distance above the flame. She tested it with a hand, before breaking off several inches off the tip of each pole and adding them to the fire. Using some extra twine, she bound more sticks, forming a nice large rectangle.

She fit the contraption over the poles, tying it off before tossing the pelt over it; wet side down, of course.

"The smoke will clear out any fleas or ticks left in the pelt, but this far north of Cyrodil, it's unlikely there's many bugs. Let's just hope we can finish this before the storm hits. Word is that Falkreath is known for its stormy weather, and I'd very much like to be packed up and on the road before the rain can slow us down."

"Is all of this really necessary? It's a massive waste of time. We could have been halfway up that stupid mountain by now if we kept walking. I can just sleep in your backpack, I don't need a bedroll." Midna complained. Bastrii glared.

"As much as I'd love carrying you all the way up there, there's not going to be enough room in my pack to hold you and the food we'll need to reach the top. If you didn't already know, Falkreath is the most Southern Hold across Skyrim, but its fair climate isn't due to its position above Cyrodil. It's still very much below sea level, and that mountain is at least… thousands of feet tall. Its covered in snow for a reason.

"Not much can survive a low air, freezing, blizzard climate without being incredibly deadly to begin with. Wolves, Trolls, and at this point? There could even be a dragon somewhere on those peaks. If I forgot the food, we could starve our way up there – but it's at least a week's journey, and I don't think either of us have the fat for that.

"If I didn't make you something to at least try and keep you warm, like a robe or jerkin of some sort, you would freeze to death before we made it to the first snow lined ridge. I don't have the coin to just buy one for you. Maybe you should slow down and think. If we rush in, we'll die. If we take too long, everyone will die. This is the fastest option."

Midna groaned. So it's because she'll freeze, huh? She's tough. Well, with her magic, she's immune to most of it – a simple phasing spell, and nothing can harm her, not even the strongest wind. But with what magic she has, she can't maintain it for more than a few moments. At best, light levitation is all she can pull off. All of her more useful spells require more than she has to bargain with.

She thought back to her companion. Link would do, and say, the same thing. Except Link had the money to simply purchase what was needed, instead of doing it all by scratch. The similarities were there, she thought.

"Alright. Fine. We'll do it your way."

Bastrii was a bit stunned. That was much faster than she anticipated.

"Good. Look, I understand things are different from where you're from, but I'm only bringing you along just to get you home. Nothing more. I'm not your friend. I just don't want to be responsible for you dying, after I spent all of my energy raising you from the brink."

Midna avoided her look. She forgot about that.

"Understood. The feeling is mutual." The Imp said, sitting on thin air. Drumming her fingers along her shoulder. She'll wait… for now.

And so they waited. Bastrii kept herself busy with preparations, counting her arrows. Twenty seven. She grimaced at the thought of running out, considering she didn't have a sidearm. She took inventory of what she had, then sat down with her needle and thread.

She was going to fix that broken buckle on her bracer, even if it killed her. She narrowed her eyes, concentrating on the leather before her.

"What are you doing?" Midna asked, seemingly bored with her wait. With nothing to do, all she could think of was to pester her guide.

"Trying to fix my bracer. It snapped when a bandit's blade made a cut for me. Luckily, it only broke the buckle, and not the skin beneath. Nor my shirt."

She motioned to the dark green shirt she wore under her leather armor. "It's my last shirt from home. I don't want to lose it just yet."

Midna eventually settled down by the fire, sighing. Might as well be more talkative.

"Where are you from?" She asked the Hylian beside her. Well, she's not Hylian, but looks like one – minus the eyes. She would soon start calling her an Elf, or Bosmer, whatever she referred to herself as, with time.

"I was born in the land of Valenwood, far to the south of here. My Mother, a Nord, raised me – while my Father hunted and adhered to the Green Pact, and brought home our meals. It was a bit comical to see my Dad standing near my Mom. The size difference was immense. I'm surprised she ever fell in love with him, with how bullheaded he was."

She pricked her finger as she pierced the leather, wincing. "I guess I should tell you a bit more about my home. We lived south of Sylvenar – a central hub for the believers of the Green Pact. Valenwood is a massive, spiraling forest – untouched by hands for decades, and left to grow of its own accord. And the Green Pact is the religion Wood Elves, or Bosmer, follow.

"It essentially entails leaving the land to the spirit of Nature and only consuming meat. And while I do love meat, I just can't stand eating it all the time. I think I picked that up from my Mom, who couldn't adhere to the Pact even if she wanted to. It was just too much to give up potatoes for her, or herbs for seasoning."

She smiled triumphantly as she held up the fixed bracer, strapping it on to her left arm. "Much better." She turned to the pelt, pulling it off of the fire as she set it on the log. Using the fatty brain balm, she smeared it quickly across the slightly smokey leather, looking up at the Imp between her work.

"What about you? Tell me about Hyrule."

Midna thought it over, nodding. "Hyrule is a bit like here, except… there's a lot of plains in the center, and the forest clings to the southern edge. It's very big, but uh… not as big as Skyrim. And nowhere near as lush in some places. Hyrule takes only a few days to cross by horse, the country isn't very noteworthy beyond that."

Bastrii's ear flicked. "You don't know much about your land, huh? You seem sheltered."

Midna nodded. "You could say that, yes."

"So what about Ordon? You mentioned it once, is that the Town you lived in?"

"Village, and I guess so. But I hardly spent much time there, most of my days were whittled away by Link's side. We visited occasionally, especially after a few harsh injuries and he needed time to clear his head."

"And this Link fellow… who is he? He sounds like he has an important job. I know he's your friend. What else/"

The question finally came. How could she describe Link? She couldn't just call him her slave, that would be a bit… harsh. Friend seemed to fit the moment she brought him up the other day. She'll go with that.

"Yes, he was my friend. He was helping me out with a quest of my own. He's kinda like you in a way-"

"I thought you mentioned that. Is he a Bosmer too? I wouldn't be surprised to learn that you're simply from a different country."

"No no, he's a Hylian. He has these… blue eyes. That just pierce your soul. And he may be young, but he's already taller than you for sure. And Hylians come in all shapes and sizes, too – you just happen to look like one, I guess. Or Bosmer do. It's confusing."

Minutes passed in relative silence. The occasional comment passing between the two. Finally, Bastrii pulled the pelt from the fire, scooping a bit of ash from it as she smeared it in on top of the warm leather.

"And that does?..."

"Dries up the excess oil, and seals it. Prevents it from rotting out." She held up the large, person sized pelt, giving it a sharp flick to remove the last of the trapped ash.

"C'mere. I have to size you."

"You can't be serious."

"You want it to fit?" She said, placing her knife in her mouth. Minda sighed, floating over.

"Just don't touch me anywhere weird, and we'll be fine."

"No intention to, Princess." Bastrii said sarcastically. Midna winced a bit, but turned around. She didn't expect that comment.

A twist, a twirl, and a few quick slashes and Bastrii was working on stitching up not just a shirt, but a pair of pants, too.

"If you know how, go ahead and start tearing down camp. This shouldn't take more than half an hour. And make sure everything is bound tightly and put in the bag. A wet tent will not keep us warm."

Midna didn't like Bastrii for sure, now. Link never gave her orders. _She_ gave _him_ orders. Then again, their relationship was under different circumstances.

But she did it with only a few angry grunts, using her large hand to quickly undo Bastrii's work.

And as the sun began to fully eclipse the horizon and dawn passed, Bastrii had finished smoking the rations under a fresh, green-leaf burning fire. Several pounds of venison, a heavy burden on her already packed bag. It didn't matter, it would be much too light soon for the both of them, as she finished stitching up a small bedroll for her temporary accomplice.

"Ready?" Bastrii said, as Midna tied off the pack. The Imp admired her work for a moment.

Now that she thought about it, she didn't do a half bad job. Everything was tightly packed, and organized – something she didn't even consider until she fell into the flow of her work.

"Here, try these." She offered the small outfit to the Imp, who snatched it up in her giant hand. She looked over the jacket – it was split down the middle, with three bone buttons. A bit gruesome, but definitely warm, with the fur lining the inside to keep all of her little heat in. The pants had a twine belt, and seemed to fit her.

She couldn't help herself but try it on. It was the first time she had a chance to wear clothes since she was cursed to this form. Everything, while quickly made, fit well – not even an inch to grow, like she could. She gave a genuine smile, but quickly hid it.

"It works," Midna said nonchalantly.

Bastrii waited for a moment. Then said simply, "You're welcome."

She hefted the bag, resting it on her back – right under her cloak. "And thank you for packing my bag."

Midna didn't respond, adjusting her jacket. She didn't realize how cold she was until she put on the warm, comforting leather.

Bastrii stomped the fire out with her boot, shouldering her bow as she began forward.

For the first time since her journey began with Link, Midna would have to travel in the open air. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, especially as Bastrii began to feed into it.

"Look, I know you're not as experienced as you think. I get it. You don't have to be experienced to start. My Dad taught me since I was little, so I'll try to pass it on to you. Got it? It could save your life one day. All you have to do, is cooperate with me, and we can make this work until I get you home. But you need to know this.

"Skyrim is a very, very dangerous place. If it's not the wildlife out for your head, it's nature. If it's not nature, it's bandits. If it's not bandits, it's draugar. If it's not all of the above, it's something more malicious than what I can think of, and I can think of a lot.

"I don't expect you to fight. You said you can do magic, but it's very weak. So I'll rule that out. You have some strength in that weird… arm thing of yours, but I don't want you to be a target. I ask that you stay back, and offer support where you can. That's all I need of you.

"From now on, we're a party. A team. We have to stick together, especially if we want to make it through this frozen hell we're about to step into. I'm going to rely on you, just like you rely on me. Okay? If there's even a single misstep at the wrong moment, we could both very well die. Understood?"

Midna nodded. "That's a rather heroic speech for someone so small and young."

Bastrii blinked. "I'm thirty five."

Midna furrowed her brow. "You don't look like it. You look twenty, at best, Miss _Stunning Good Looks_."

"I'm going to pretend that was a compliment. Bosmer, like all elves, can live to be three hundred years old. Though Bosmer tend to die before then, from war typically."

"Shouldn't you be, I don't know… smaller, then? Like a child?" Midna leaned forward, as if on the edge of an imaginary bed. Holding her stomach as she gazed down at her Guide, a foot dangling upwards in the air.

"Just because we live to be three hundred doesn't mean we age at a third of the rate. And how old do you live to be, huh? You said you were cursed. How long are you supposed to live for?" She stopped at a nearby branch, quickly snapping it free from the tree. It cracked easily, and gave little bend. Straight, and perfect for walking.

"A Twili can live to be one hundred, and no more."

"And how old are you?" Bastrii smiled. She may have found a nerve.

Midna glared, turning up her nose. "I'm afraid I'm not allowed to tell you such private information."

"So less than thirty five."

This drew a glower from the leather clad Imp, her eyes a burning fury – ready to argue. But she was interrupted by Bastrii's laughter, the Wood Elf's mouth bent in a large smile.

"I don't care about your age, Midna. Age means very little. It's experience I care about."

"Twenty two." Midna said, defiant. "I'm twenty two years of age. And I'm much more beautiful when I'm less cursed, Dragonbird."

Bastrii didn't speak, mulling it over in her head.

"So it _is_ less than thirty five." She smiled. And that's when the argument began.


	3. Chapter 3

The way towards Arrowflash Pass was through several steady deer trails across the dense brush of the thinning forest. While the threes thinned out, and the mountain became easier to spot, the brush was as rampant as ever. Midna had to keep low to avoid the occasional tree branch, steadying herself with her wavering magic.

"Don't you have a horse or something we can ride, to get by a little faster?" Midna complained. While she hadn't been directly walking, the levitation had been quite a bit more draining than she felt it should.

"I could possibly find us something to ride. We're still near Falkreath Hold, there might be an Elk nearby I could tame, if only until the Blessing of Y'ffre urges him free." She went silent for a moment, thinking. "If there was time, and I had the right items at hand, I could shapeshift under the call of the Wild Hunt, but that… it probably wouldn't work."

"You can _shapeshift?_" Midna asked, absolutely astonished. "Freely?"

"Not freely. It's part of my people's heritage; Bosmer are protected by the spirit Y'ffre, the Goddess of Nature. Under her falls the Green Pact; as a Bosmer, I must protect Valenwood; my homeland. I am not allowed to strike the trees there, or demolish the plant life – I must uphold the protection of the sacred forests. This doesn't extend to dead wood, of course.

"Since I have never harmed my homeland, I still have a connection to Y'ffre, and my spirit can still call her essence into being. This gives me the ability to command animals, if only for as long as the Goddess allows; and with her help, I can call upon the Wild Hunt to shapeshift into a beast without form. Without the Willpower to contain it, it's without shape and without reason, and nearly irreversible.

"The only problem is that my connection with the Pact isn't as strong as those who follow it to the letter. I have consumed plants, and I haven't tasted the flesh of every life I've taken. For this, I am of the Prime Sect – the most common Sect of Bosmer, as most have forgone the dated traditions for a more simpler approach. The Green Sect, or those who live in Silvenar, are the most devout to the Treaty of Frond and Leaf, known as the Green Pact."

Midna listened to the intense lore of the Bosmer, absolutely bewildered by it. "Your connection to your Gods is strong. What else can you do? Are your people chosen by your Gods, or Goddesses?"

Bastrii stepped over an overturned log, landing nimbly in her element.

"There are many physical Gods and Goddesses in Nirn, all of which have left their impact on the land. Some of which are all powerful, others are chaotic in their nature. But not all of them lay upon their land as much as Y'ffre has for my People. As we obey the Pact, we are given the right to talk with Nature through a ritual. Through this, we can grow trees and roots to the shapes we desire, into homes, bridges. Furniture. What we can't make, we finish with leather.

"Because of this, all Bosmer are keen with leather working and archery not just from birth, but from how we're raised, too."

She slowly came to a halt, taking her pack off and setting it to the side. "And our ears can help us hear the idle heartbeat of a stray Elk. Lay low, I'm going to see if I can call to it."

Bastrii waved her hand down to the floor, quietly slipping through the dense foliage ahead of her. Midna, not wanting to be left behind, dropped down and quietly walked along through the tight path.

Though Bastrii was much bigger, she was much quieter than the Imp thought possible. Even when a branch teased the taut string of her bow, she managed to turn gently and let it whisk through the air without a sound.

The first drop of rain fell on Midna's head. Soon, several more followed as the sky grew a mournful gray.

Bastrii waved her fingers ahead, pointing towards an Elk. It seemed serene in this clearing, several large antlers beyond him in the far distance scouting for food. The Bosmer's eyes narrowed as she took another step closer, her movement entirely null to the ear.

Midna stood still, and watched.

Slowly, Bastrii made her way to her feet – standing up as her hand lay outstretched to the creature before her. Her breathing had stopped, her form as stiff as the trunks around her as twinkling emerald lights swirled around her arm.

A soft call in the distance filled the clearing – like the wind had took to motion and began to sing a beckoning tune. The Elk turned its head to the Wood Elf, its eyes locking to hers as it slowly walked forward.

The green lights had captured the chin of the beast, as it placed its head in Bastrii's hands. Gently, she ran her fingers across its cheeks and down its neck, cooing to the antlered Elk.

Midna slowly floated over to the side, watching the spectacle with wide eyes. Bastrii's gaze was locked to the Elk's, peering into its large irises.

Her mouth open, and her voice came without breath – less than a tiny whisper that could graze even Midna's keen hearing. A language she couldn't hear, but could feel and understand.

"_Will you join us?" _Midna felt through her mind's eye. The Elk's mouth opened, but if it spoke, Midna could not hear it.

And just like that, what was once a calm silence broke, as the sound of rain ruptured her ears. Midna didn't even realize that it had went so quiet, that the world had stopped for that moment as she looked at the now… _tamed_ creature.

"That… wow."

Midna had never seen such a display of magic in all of her years. She couldn't even relate. "Where I come from, magic like that doesn't even exist. Did it speak to you? You can talk with animals?"

Bastrii looked Midna directly in the eyes, turned to the side, and fell to her knees. Puking her short lived breakfast to the forest floor.

"What are you doing! The hard part is out of the way, get up!" Midna shouted, the moment over. "You can't just do something like that and waste supplies for nothing! Up! Up!"

She floated over to the shaking Wood Elf, glaring daggers at her as she gave her a swift, restrained kick. Bastrii sputtered, slowly making it to her feet.

She looked sickly and pale.

"Sorry. Casting all of this magic has been… draining, to say the least. Just… magic like that is very powerful, and as long as I hold my call to them, a piece of me is tied to this Elk. It was like taking a part of my soul and giving it to him." She said, wiping tears from her eyes. "And it hurt. A lot."

"So what! You're fine. Don't be such a wimp; plant your feet, and let's get going."

Midna made her way over to the bag, taking it in her large hand as she hoisted it up into the air. She tossed it into Bastrii's arms, forcing her to stumble back. "If you didn't notice Dragon_bird_, it's raining again. And as much as I love to sit around and be all sappy in the woods with some kinda four legged tree cow, I'd rather be sitting on my luxurious bed, at home, after all of my enemies are defeated. So move it."

The Elk pressed her head against Bastrii's, as a new emotion filled her mind. Confusion, maybe… agitation. She smiled to the Elk.

"I know, I feel the same way."

"Good! Then let's get moving." Midna said, taking the comment as if it was directed to her. Bastrii rolled her eyes and settled the bag on her shoulders, while the elk slipped down onto its knees. She climbed aboard with his help, still shaky after the whole ordeal.

Midna hovered over and sat on the creature's back, directly in front of Bastrii. The Elk started forward at a light canter, its feet brushing through the leaves with ease as he followed along the path.

"So." Bastrii frowned, looking down at Midna. "Any reason why you're sitting in front of me, or are you just trying to get on my nerves."

"Oh no, no reason. I just like to see where we're going. Also, your body makes for a fine umbrella. I don't suppose you've got one in your little bag I've might of missed, hmm?"

Bastrii didn't respond as Midna laughed.

"Alright Dragon_bird_. I'll take that as a no."

For several hours, the journey continued on at its new brisk pace. The Elk beneath them gave few complaints, but as they finally broke the forest clearing, the first actual road came up to them on their left.

Bastrii fidgeted with Midna in front of her. By now, the little Imp had curled up against the Elf's armored front, half asleep as the rain continued around them.

"If we're ambushed, you'll most likely be hit and killed by an arrow if you're in front of me." The Bosmer stated flatly, rousing Midna from her rest. "We're going into Ambush Pass. You might not have seen that on the map, but it's a dangerous place."

"Huh?" Midna reached into her helmet, looking for the map and compass she placed there the other day. It was gone.

"I took it back while you were sleeping last night."

"So you DID touch me!"

"Quiet."

"How absolutely barbaric-"

"I said _quiet._" Bastrii said, ears twitching as she placed a hand over Midna's mouth. The tiny creature barely restrained herself from sinking her fangs into her vulnerable fingers.

"Braehoof heard something." She said, pulling her hand away slowly.

"Braewhat?"

"The Elk. I think that's his name." She whispered, looking around. Midna looked at the new beast of burden's head, her eyes falling flat in annoyance.

"Oh, so now you know everything about this stupid Elk, too?"

"_Shut. Up._ You're going to get us killed." Bastrii hissed, as the Elk came to a dead stop. "I can hear well, but Braehoof..."

A piercing cry of an arrow interrupted the conversation, then the wooden shaft struck Bastrii directly in the left arm. It pierced clean through the appendage, burying into her side through the armor as her breath followed in a gasp.

Braehoof spurred into action, immediately slamming its hooves into the ground in a dead sprint, Bastrii slumping forward over Midna in agony as her left arm remained pinned to her leather chest piece.

Midna went quiet in wide-eyed shock, looking around from under her Guide in terror. That returning dread of her vulnerability filled her body, as she realized that if one of those arrows hit her, she was gone.

There were no reigns to grasp, nothing to hold onto but the dense hair beneath the Elk's neck as it stampeded forward. Midna looked to her side, seeing several men running towards them on foot, before slowly coming to a stop. One of them was yelling at the other, their leather garb like a uniform to each other's under their cowls. The one yelling appeared to be clad in steel armor, with what appeared to be a horsehair helm upon his head.

"Are those bandits?!" She cried, terrified as the Elk continued to run rampant up the road. Bastrii didn't respond, as the first ridge of the mountain broke their view. Straight up the path, a cleave through the sheer rocky faces showed the pass – Arrowflash Pass – as the Elk pummeled the ground without order.

"Bastrii? Wake up! Your cow is going crazy, it's gonna buck us if you don't do something!"

Bastrii didn't respond, instead leaned back and ran a hand over the shoulder of the Elk. He turned his head to his side, looking her over before his gallop turned into powerful canter.

"Say something, idiot! What in Din's name is going on?!"

"Midna." She looked down at the angry, anxious Imp. Tears in her own amber eyes as she lifted her arm. The creature grimaced as blood coated her leather torso, slowly leaking from the wound made by the projectile. Her movement had jarred the tip free of the leather, thankfully. "I'm hit."

"_And?_"

"Pull it out."

"The arrow? Are you crazy?"

"No. Break the head off, pull it out. I don't have the guts to do it on my own."

Midna stared at her for a shocked moment, before nodding. "Fine. But I'm not a healer. This is going to hurt you way more than it will ever hurt me."

Bastrii kept to herself, raising her arm forward as Midna's strange hand slipped free from her head. She noted the fine design of the steel arrowhead, as her extra appendage clasped around it. Her smaller fingers laced around the wood, and even though the Elk made it impossible to keep things steady, she tried to force herself to be gentle.

_Snap._

Bastrii screamed in agony, as within three seconds, the flight of the arrow was discarded to the passing floor. In Midna's hair, she held the steel tip to the offending weapon, dropping it into Bastrii's palm. The Elk below stuttered in its fast canter, as if the yelp caused him harm.

"Legion. That's an Imperial Arrow." She growled, grinding her teeth in frustration. "How'd they know it was me?"

Midna could give no answer, only silence. Bastrii spoke up again.

"Can you go into my pack, and grab a bandage, please? I'm bleeding."

Midna nodded sternly, a bit furious that Bastrii could go and get injured not even a whole day into her quest home. But she put that emotion aside to instead hover around her, holding on to the pack as she slid her hand deep in, withdrawing the white savior from its confines.

How these seemed oh so familiar to her by now, as Link had gone through at least several dozen of them from all of his injuries back home. She quickly set to work with the now nostalgic procedure, frowning in frustration as she had to work on this… _Bosmer_ instead of her long time friend.

She tucked the wool into itself, Bastrii giving a tired nod. "Thank you." She said, holding the arm tight. "For everything you've done so far."

"Whatever." She glared, before floating around to her hind end and slipping beneath the cloak. She hid from view beneath the treated cloth, sighing. It was at least comfortably dry back here, and the backpack above made a small alcove where she could rest without the cloth pressing against her face.

Midna began to ponder quietly about her past, recalling what led her to this… _place_. She didn't speak much, only worry about the strength of her Guide, and whether she'd be enough to complete this journey.

She sighed. Maybe Bastrii's situation was like Link's. Maybe some higher power looked over her and her fate, and made… _allowances_ for her to succeed. Maybe.

She didn't want to think on it too long. What she wanted to contemplate was how she arrived in Skyrim in the first place. So, she did just that. For at least an hour.

As they continued down the pass, Braehoof's canter slowed to a trot, giving her a moment to speak.

"Hey." Midna said, poking her head out from under the cloak.

"What." The Elf retorted, a bit more sharply than Midna hoped. She obviously wasn't happy with her at the moment, or at least, unhappy with her attitude.

"I need to tell you about something important." She slipped back around to the front of the Elk, settling down between it's shoulders as it made its way around fallen rubble.

"Be quick. At any moment, death can rain down upon us. I'm pretty sure the name 'Ambush Pass' isn't given to this place lightly."

"Okay. So, when Rolf said that I was… distant, from my Magic. That means that my Magic is still here, the source of it – it's able to be reached. It's just not very close." Midna hesitated, not sure how to say it.

"And?" Bastrii said, looking around cautiously, her injured arm hanging to her side; useless. She mimicked that same voice that Midna used earlier, when she was questioned her request.

"Well, my magic comes from my homeland. A bit like yours comes from the blessing of your Goddess, mine comes from… Hyrule." Midna said, after a moment of deliberation.

"Okay. So that means Hyrule might be close, right?"

"No no. If… _Hyrule_ was close, then I would be able to cast freely. What it means is that the portal to my homeland might be somewhere here, in Skyrim. If there was no portal, there would be no magic at all, and I wouldn't be able to fly."

Bastrii thought it over, nodding. "True. I guess a portal would give off a similar aura of that magic you use. Do you have any idea what it would look like?"

"It would be a large, round mirror – with three… triangles, in the middle, I think. It's black, and it would be radiating a form of magic you might not be able to detect. So I'll definitely know when we're close."

Silence over took them, as an awkward lull in their conversation filled the air. With nothing else to say, Midna returned to her spot under the cloak.

Minutes passed like hours as the rain slowly turned to snow; a chilly air washing over the steep sides of the pass. Now that Bastrii looked at it, it seemed more like a steep valley than anything.

The rocks above dotted the route, making Bastrii feel unease. Not just from the rocks above, but from Braehorn's own emotions passing through him.

She leaned forward, putting her head against his.

_Fear._

Something was wrong.

"It's okay, Braehoof. It's okay." She said, running her hand along his neck. He stopped and gave a short, high pitched bugle, staggering a bit. Taking it as a sign of something to come, Bastrii hopped off of her mount, Midna huffing.

"We can't take a break now! This is probably the worst spot!" Midna said, floating up into the air.

Bastrii slipped her pack into her hand, drawing the same rope she used to string up the deer from earlier. "We're not taking a break. Braehoof senses something up ahead."

"Okay, look, I know you probably think you're all knowing about nature, but I doubt you can tell when your stupid deer or whatever is upset just by looking at it. This is just crazy."

Bastrii and Braehoof exchanged a knowing glance, before the Elk looked to Midna and gave another short bugil. His head jutting forward with the movement.

"You don't have to be so harsh with her, Braehoof." She said, wrapping the rope gently around his neck. "She doesn't mean it."

Midna threw her hands down in frustration, spinning about as she crossed her arms and started forward. Bastrii paid her no mind at the moment, instead spending the necessary time calming her mount with a few nearby snow berries.

Just at the corner, Midna stopped.

"Come on Brae, she's mad enough as it is. Let's not keep her waiting."

The Elk looked to the Elf, and nodded again. While unsure, he followed regardless, throwing his head about wearily.

Midna didn't move, as Bastrii rounded the corner to her.

"Come on Midna, you can sit on..."

She looked up the pass. Before her were at least a dozen overturned carts, dozens of arrows scattered loosely along the path. Countless bodies littered the floor in the tight corridor, all wearing Imperial Armor.

Midna turned away, feeling sick. Bastrii just looked on in horror, as Braehoof fidgeted relentlessly, but held close.

"I…" Bastrii began, but fell short once more. "This…"

Nothing she could format into words could describe the carnage before her. There were units of all shapes and sizes, nearly all military men in leather or steel armor. All were covered in blood. A few were crushed beneath their horses, having spent their last few moments choked in agony. The carts were looted and robbed, bodies were missing weapons and shields.

She took a moment to breathe and compose herself, before taking a step forward to rip a shirt off of a downed soldier. She quietly tore two strips from the cloth, tying one around Braehoof's head to obscure his eyes.

"Shh, it's okay. Just listen to me, and follow my lead." She whispered, holding back the traumatized tears of what she was about to do. "Midna, do you?..."

She shook her head flatly, rejecting the blindfold.

"I'll be fine. Let's… let's go."

Braehoof followed the tug on his lead blindly, unsteady as his hoof sunk into a downed soldier's back with a soft pop. The crunch of breaking bone evident as Bastrii brought him forward.

Even a well trained horse would flee at the sight of the carnage.

The bodies they walked over were immeasurable – dozens of them, scattered throughout the clearing with multiple arrows protruding from them. A few had survived their wounds for a brief hour, scratching and dragging their broken bodies forward, if only to collapse and die by their friends. Many more perished from other causes – a bolder smashing into them, or enraptured in flame.

As they neared the end of the bodies, a strong Nordic voice rang out from above. Bastrii looked up the ridge, caught off guard.

"Stop in the name of Ulfric Stormcloak!" Shouted an armored man, his chain mail covered in a blue baldric. "For what reason do you cross into lands of Riften, under the protection of Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King of Skyrim? Lower your hood and drop your weapon. You're surrounded."

Bastrii looked around her, across the rocks above. At least a platoon of men, armed with bows, had their weapons trained on her, her mount, and her companion. She slowly lowered her bow to the floor, raising her hands up to take down her green hood.

"Why is a Bosmer crossing Arrowflash Pass?" Said the man, as another voice spoke up from the army above.

"Bosmer? A Wood Elf? What's your name?" A soldier shouted, lowering his weapon. Several others looked to him, a few more confused looks as some slid the arrows forward on the string.

"My name is Bastrii Duskhollow. I am traveling to Ivarstead." She said, trying her best to prevent her voice from cracking.

"Bastrii? Bastrii, from Helgen? The Wood Elf who helped me, Ulfric, and a dozen other Stormcloaks escape the wrath of Alduin – the mighty dragon of lore?" The same soldier said, plucking the arrow off of his string as she stood up.

"Ralof?" Bastrii lowered her hands, resting them by her side as most of the Stormcloaks above took their aim off of her. The few that didn't awaited the order.

"Stand down! Bastrii is an ally to the Stormcloaks! She helped me kill several Imperials back in Helgen."

And with that, all bows were without arrows. Braehoof clopped his feet in frustration, ready to be free of the stench of blood, and to see the world again. "Ralof? Can we get out of here, please? This place is making me sick."

"Yes, yes! Forward, up along the right side of the ridge – it's so good to see you alive friend! We have much to discuss." Ralof clapped his hands once in excitement, slipping his bow to hang from his quiver.

Eagerly, Bastrii picked up her weapon and followed the directions, Midna looking astonished, but not entirely taken back.

"You know, Bastrii, you're either incredibly charismatic to make good friends like that, or just stupidly lucky."

"Oh no, I'm anything but Charismatic. I'm actually really bad with words. It's a Wood Elf thing." Bastrii smiled, blushing a bit from Midna's encouragement. The few bits she gave, at least.

"Just take the compliment, idiot."

Oh.

Rounding the corner, she slipped off Braehoof's blindfold, much to the relief of the Elk as they continued up the steep goat path. If she hadn't looked, she would have never spotted the small trail up the side of the rocks, stoney outcroppings and pine trees blocking off the world around the peak where the small army stood. Ralof was eager to meet them, already standing at the road with his arms wide open.

"My friend! You've made it! Sorry for the scare, but we can't be too sure when someone travels alone through the pass. We've had too many messengers try to slip by before." He clasped Bastrii's hand in his own, pulling her in to a hug. "How's the shoulder fairing?"

"It's much better without an arrow in it, that's for sure. Unfortunately, some of our Imperial friends tried to fix that with another not more than an hour ago." She gestured to her left arm, a blood soaked bandage clinging to the emerald green shirt. "I'd like you to meet my traveling companion, Midna. She's going to be working with me until I can find a way to get her home."

Ralof looked at the creature on the Elk's back, a bit taken aback. "By Ysmir! What is it?"

"_It_ is a _she_, you blond haired idiot." Midna spat, glaring at Ralof.

He gave a hearty laugh, clapping Bastrii again. "She's burning with a fire that only a Stormcloak could muster! I like her. What is she, some kind of Daedra?"

"I believe she's a Twili, from a place called Hyrule. Not too sure how she arrived, but we have some sort of idea on how to get her back." Bastrii gestured to her mount. "And this is Braehoof. I didn't choose the name, he told me it through our connection."

The Elk bent its head forward, mimicking something it had seen in its shared memories with Bastrii. It dropped to one knee, showing the utmost respect.

"A fine mount indeed! Where did you purchase it? It's not often that one can tame the wild Elk of Skryim."

"Oh, I met him on the way here a few hours ago. He's a wild Elk from the trail."

Ralof laughed. "Sure! You bought him in Falkreath, right?"

"No, she actually just met him on the trail." Midna said flatly. "Can we get going now?"

Ralof thought about it for a moment. Knowing Wood Elves, who's to say they can't just… make animal friends like this?

"I'm afraid not, my friends. My Officer wishes to speak to you. But I do want to do you a favor, Bastrii. If you would give me the lead to your mount while you talk, I think you'll be very happy with what I have planned." Ralof said, in his deep, rich, waving Nordic voice.

Midna took a moment to look at him, and read his features now that she was close enough to see this Ralof fellow. Especially now that he wanted to touch her ride, she wasn't too pleased.

He was tall, much taller than Bastrii – he carried an Iron War Axe on his belt, heavy and curved in its runic design. His armor was brown leather over a mail hauberk. He had a simple longbow on his back, with the familiar arrows from below in his quiver. A blue scarf was long enough to join his armor in a wrap around his shoulder and torso, adding to his outfit. He had thick fur lined boots, and he seemed a bit grimy from his work.

Midna felt like she could trust him – about as far as she could throw him, of course. Regardless, she stayed on the Elk's back as Bastrii followed alongside another Stormcloak.

"You probably don't remember me, but I was the soldier you healed with your magic, back in the caves beneath Helgen." The new face said, leading the way for the Wood Elf. "If you didn't help me back then, I wouldn't have made it out alive."

That's all Midna could catch from that conversation, as Ralof began to lead Braehoof into the far side of Camp. There was stationed a stable with several horses, four large carts nearby now devoid of supplies.

"So." Ralof began. "Midna, right? How long have you been with Bastrii?"

She was quiet for a moment, watching the Nord bring the gentle beast towards an empty stall.

"About two days now."

"How did you two meet? Don't suppose it was during another Dragon attack, aye?"

Midna laughed. "As if! I woke up to her grabbing me in some old guy's house."

"Grabbing you? Like, taking you away? Waking you up?"

Midna thought about how she should answer this. "Well, no. I was… unconscious. She used magic to heal me, and I woke up with her hands against my body."

"Ah, Restoration Magic. Be careful with how she uses that. Magic in itself is very powerful, and to channel it is to burn your body with it. It's very draining, especially for the unblooded like her."

"What do you mean, 'unblooded'?"

Ralof waved her off of the Elk, as he raised a saddle to its back. It fit rather nicely, as Braehoof gave him an angry glare.

"It means she hasn't fought in the Resistance as one of us, but she's still considered kin. She's like a recruit who hasn't seen battle. What I'm trying to say is, she's very inexperienced with her magic. I'm not one to study it, but I know that the more it hurts you to cast it, the more damage it does to you. And Restoration magic is known well as the Soldier Killer."

Midna was quiet, thinking it over. "It will kill her, then? To heal people?"

Ralof tried to slip a bit over the Elk's head, but it just would fit. And it spit the metal rod out, anyway. "Not if she uses it sparingly, and gives her body time to rest. We've lost a dozen healers to the toll it takes to undo even the simplest of wounds. Just try not to let her overdo herself. Any magic can kill the caster."

Midna nodded thoughtfully. So if she wants her Guide to live, she has to stop being selfless. That might be possible, seeing how she isn't as stubborn as Link was.

_Is._ Link is still alive.

Right?

Across the Stormcloak Camp, Bastrii sat down at a map table with a finely bearded Stormcloak, a bit of age on him. He wore a heavy iron plate on his chest, a bear hide serving as his cloak as he ordered the curtains closed to the Tent. Two Stormcloaks remained just outside, but she paid them no mind.

"Hail, Bastrii. We're sorry for the inconvenience of the pass. It's a bit messy, but we plan on clearing that out later. Right now, I have something I need to talk to you about. About the dragons."

Oh boy, here we go.

He stuck his arm out, and Bastrii reached forward to grasp it. "Arlof Winterhand. Of Kynesgrove. It's nice to meet you, after all of this time." He gave a cough, taking a large mug of what was apparently water in his hand, sipping at it steadily.

"I need to know if you're really the Dragonborn. We've heard the news from Whiterun. It's across all of Skyrim by now, whether by pigeon or by mouth, every city and every hold has heard at least the whisper of the legends on the wind.

"I need to know what you intend to do with this power."

Bastrii circled her left arm, nodding. Arlof took notice of the bandage. He turned to the closed entryway and gave a call. "Bring in some fresh bandages and treatment for our guest. She has an injury."

With that distraction out of the way, she began. "At first, I had no idea. I was planning on leaving Skyrim before the dragons came, but since I was captured at the border on my way home, my whole life has been thrown into disarray. I've been left to my own devices, and since I brought the news of Dragons to Whiterun, well..."

She cleared her throat. "Me and several of the Whiterun Guards had slain a Dragon already. That's when I learned I was Dragonborn. I absorbed its soul, and I felt its power… _burn_ into me. Like it's etched into my very essence. It was the most intense pain I've experienced in my life by far. I had found myself able to speak in a Thu'um – the only word I know being that of force. And even uttering it can make my throat bleed."

She took a moment to adjust herself. "I plan on taking the journey to High Hrothgar, to speak with the Graybeards. I've heard their call, and the more I think on it, the more I realize I have to. If not for me, for Skyrim, or for my own pride – it would be for my late Mother, a True Nord of Skyrim."

Arlof swelled a bit with her words. There was meaning to them. He could feel it, the tenacity behind her voice. She meant to keep her word.

"Then it's settled. As Captain of this group of Stormcloaks, there's not much I can really do to help you, but spare some supplies. Below, I had sent a team down to reclaim our arrows and snag some Imperial Leather, before moving the bodies. I'll see to it that we have something for you to show our kindness.

"By now, there's a few hours of daylight left – let our Healer tend to you, and stay by our hearths tonight. I'm sure you've got a few familiar faces besides Ralof's that would love to see you."

He stood up, dusting his cloak of fresh snow as Bastrii followed. "When you're ready, I'll show you your quarters for the night. Other then that, you're free to move unhindered, and you can call our camp home."

Bastrii smiled, nodding. "Thank you for your generosity. I'll be sure to pay it back one day in kind."

Arlof chuckled quietly. "Pay it back? We're paying you back, Dragonborn. You saved a few lives back in Helgen."

"And they saved mine. If Ralof wasn't there to pick me up when I was downed, I would have see the business end of one of those Imperial blades."

As their conversation was coming to a close, a young Khajiit approached, his blue robes billowing from the wind. This Khajiit stood tall, his furry face and cat ears showing his feral side. He had a black spotted coat with gray fur, and blue eyes. His voice came in a gentle, airy hiss, a dull smile on his face. "Greetings Traveler. Are you the one they call Bastrii?"

The Bosmer nodded. This was the first time in a long while she had seen a Khajiit this far from Elsweyr, their traditional homeland. They were more common in Valenwood, being close neighbors – and a few resided on the tail end of Cyrodil. But she didn't expect to find one in Skyrim.

"Then you have injuries? Let Therrjo see." He stepped forward, a bit timidly to give her room to adjust. Bastrii slid her arm towards him, the blue eyes of the two legged feline examining the crimson tie at the top.

"A wonderful tie on such a trivial wound. Is there more?" He asked, and she lifted the same arm up. Fresh blood had dried on the leather, and Arlof gave her a grimace.

"It looks like you let yourself bleed, my friend." The Captain said, and she nodded.

"I didn't have time to bandage it. Just beyond the pass, a group of Imperials lay in wait. They attacked me without warning."

Therrjo began to undo the leather breastplate from Bastrii's shoulders, to get a better look. When he did, a new, fresh wave of blood began to flow down her side, drawing a hiss from the Khajiit. And a not too happy groan from the Bosmer, as well.

"This is an arrow wound, for sure. You are lucky the armor took some of the stress from the puncture for you – another inch, and you'd be without lung." Therrjo dropped the cloth to her shirt, leading her onwards as Arlof followed.

"Oh, we know about the Imperials. They're the few that managed to escape our ambush – of course, none of them know the true name to this little part of Hrothgar. If they want to occupy Skyrim so badly, they can at least learn the land! Poor leadership will never put in the effort."

As they approached the Healer's tent, Midna returned to her side.

"Are we done here yet? We've still got a mountain to climb." She said bluntly, sighing when she saw a weird beast man leading Bastrii to a shelter. "Don't tell me we're stopping here for the night."

"Therrjo says Bosmer must rest for the evening. Even with treatment, she will need stitches to prevent the cut on her chest from opening again." The Khajiit motioned for her to sit on a nearby stool, pulling her shirt free to expose the fresh wound to the open air. Luckily, she wore a loose binding over her chest to prevent unwanted stares.

The snowy climate chilled her as the Healer set down to work.

Midna groaned. Another delay. "I'm going to find something to eat. Hey big guy with the bear shirt, where could I find a meal?"

Arlof rolled his eyes. "Who's this?"

"She's my temporary companion. Don't pay her attitude more than it's worth." Bastrii said. Midna stared, waiting for the secrets to be divulged.

"Follow your nose, Imp. Past that tree line, the large tent by the bonfire. Check with Boer about food." He waved her off with a flick of his head, and the Imp greedily shot towards the clearing.

"You have the strangest tales to share, don't you, Bastrii?" Therrjo hissed in his rustic voice, withdrawing a thin needle and tightly bound thread from his pack. Bastrii grimaced as it penetrated her skin and out the other side, repeating the process several times like she's some kind of doll.

"You don't know the half of it." The Elf replied, as Arlof looked towards the sky.

"I suppose it's time I set out a new plan. We wish to retake Falkreath, once we claim Whiterun as our own. But before any of that, Jarl Ulfric needs specialized help. Bastrii, I know you have no claim to the life here in Skyrim, but if you had even a thought of hate for the Empire, or the Thalmor, please. Lend us your strength, and make your way to Windhelm."

"The Thalmor? You mean the Dominion?" Bastrii said, alert. Her brows tilting into a scowl. "The same Dominion that took my father's life in a Skirmish over Silvenar?"

"The very same who take the lives of true Sons and Daughters of Skyrim, every day." He said with a nod. Bastrii gave a short growl.

"I'll be paying Windhelm a visit, after my trip to the Graybeards."


	4. Chapter 4

Midna sat by the roaring campfire, in a circle with a few other service men on break. They eyed her carefully as she dove into supper; decimating a bowl of white navy beans and sausage, with a roll of bread. She ate ravenously, forgetting her manners as if she never had them.

"So… what did you say you were, again, uh..."

"Midna." She said, chewing the buttery roll. "I'm a Twili."

"So you're not a Daedra."

"No. Who made this? This is amazing." Midna said, lifting her plate in her hands to show off her prize. "I could kiss them."

The Nords went stony quiet – none willing to take the risk. Her fangs and ravenous hunger, not to mention her overly wide smile, were definitely off putting.

"Cheers to the Ghost that can cook, then!" She said, cheery to have something with seasoning. Soon enough, she'll be eating nothing but venison and whatever they could scrounge up.

Bastrii returned, her arm freshly bandaged – carrying a few small vials in her hands.

"I see you found food. Happy?" Bastrii asked.

"Very!" She said, feasting on the sausage. "I like these beans! They're much better than the green ones from Ordon."

Bastrii thought about it for a moment, her eyes knitting. "Green Beans? Like, Runner Beans?"

"Yes, those are horrible! They taste like dirt, and spite for anything tasty. Those and peas. Why can't they be more like these white ones." She picked up a white bean, showing it off before chomping down on the soft morsel.

"Aye, Bastrii. I saved you a bowl." Ralof said, approaching from the nearby cook's tent. "Before your friend could eat it."

Midna laughed. "He may be joking, but if you leave me alone with that, it's gone."

Bastrii took the bowl into her hands, nodding her thanks to her friend. She joined Midna by the fire, Ralof sitting across from her.

"You seem in much better spirits, Midna." Ralof started, as she polished off her bread.

"You have no idea how hungry I was. I felt like I haven't had anything in a week!" She scooped up the last spoonful of the navy beans, finishing her plate. She dropped it on the floor lazily, leaning back. Her arms supporting her chest while her head fell back across her shoulders.

"Well, unless if Rolf was force feeding you, you've probably been starving the whole time. A few good meals will really put your body back in order." Bastrii said, enjoying a bite of the hearty, earthy military soup.

"Explain it to me later when I care." Midna replied, warming her feet by the fire. "I don't suppose you have any more leather laying around here? I'd love some boots, too. Maybe some nice gloves.

Bastrii sighed, tiredly at that. Ignoring Midna's selfish behavior as she worked on feeding herself.

The soldiers around the campfire steadily found their voices, the several idlers talking between themselves. Occasionally, they would ask Bastrii a question, or seek her opinion on trivial matters – some very immature opinions, too. But for the most part, they kept to their own.

"We should leave tonight." Midna said, picking at her fang. "We don't have time to waste here."

"That would be a bad idea. Traveling at night in Skyrim, especially recently, wouldn't end well. The roads are worn and treacherous, the wolves roam freely. Trolls leave their cave in search of easy meals." Ralof said to the Imp, redoing a braid to his golden hair. "Only those with ill intentions streak at night."

"All the more reason to move quickly!" Midna said, standing up. "But I see your point. Bastrii would complain the whole time. It's not worth it."

The Bosmer in question glared at Midna as she stretched.

"Where's the beds?"

Bastrii spoke up first. "I left my pack over by that tent, as Arlof suggested. We're bunking in a former soldier's quarters, so try not to browse his belongings."

"No promises." Midna said, floating up and away, out of the growing light of the campfire as the sun slid down the horizon; the fading light hiding behind the sparse trees around the clearing.

"How do you put up with that creature for so long?" One of the Soldiers asked. He had retrieved a knife, using it to whittle away at a spare log. "If it were up to me, I'd banish her back to whatever hell she came from."

Bastrii frowned, ignoring that last part. "I've got her this far. I've come all this way. If I give up now, it would have all been for nothing."

"And how much farther are you willing to bring her?" He continued.

"That remains to be seen." She said simply, finishing her meal. "But if this keeps up, High Hrothgar is the limit."

A few of the soldiers – including the wood working man – looked at her in shock.

"You're going to ascend the Seven Thousand Steps? In late winter?" One asked, a shorter Nord with a thin beard. He looked young.

"I've got no other choice. I have to answer the call of the Graybeards."

A few gasped, as one soldier handed another a small bag of glittering coins. The smaller Nord spoke up. "So you _are_ the Dragonborn. I knew it. You match the description, except for your ears. Much too short from the hearsay."

Bastrii fondled her ear, her mood turning defensive. "They're not that big, are they?"

"They are fine, my friend." Ralof said with a soft chuckle. "Maybe a little on the long side, but fine."

The conversation between the group of men picked up again, as Bastrii kept to herself. She stared at the fire, a tidal wave of emotions pouring through her body.

_Outsider_ was the one word that really came to mind. Though surrounded by gentle mirth, she felt isolated and alone. Who knew that one little comment could hold so much weight?

"_At least they didn't call me knife-ear. Or cannibal."_

Deciding there's not much left for her at the fire, she stood up and made her way to the two-person tent. The rugged fur pelts that made up the shell were already covered in a fine layer of powdery snow – showing the growing presence of its chilly burden. When she came by earlier, it was barren except for a small trunk – filled with a dozen or so trinkets and baubles, and several hand written letters the former soldier had left behind.

The trunk was untouched, thankfully. Midna had already splayed out her bedroll to the left side of the tent, avoiding the pile of soft hay. Bastrii sighed. At least she left her the good spot this time. Desperate for real shut eye, she turned to her pack.

Where was her bedroll?

Checking the inside, she couldn't find it. She shuffled her bag to the side, wondering if Midna has just slid it underneath by mistake.

Just to be sure, she checked the darkened tent one more time. It was already laid out on the pile of hay.

For some reason, this drew a small smile from her. Maybe Midna wasn't such a horrible creature after all.

She quickly curled up under the warm fur of her bed, and let her mind wander into the open arms of her waiting dreams.

And dream she did – of many things. Terrifying dragons and sweeping mountains – of the holds she's seen and their castle tops. But most of all, she dreamed of home. Of Valenwood, and the little pod she grew up in. And she dreamed of Midna eating all of the meat she had.

"_But why the meat?"_ She would ask, and the Imp would only laugh in reply.

And then she dreamed of a sandy blond hair Bosmer, getting hit by a massive rock – sending him flying for miles. It seemed intentional, like it was the fastest way to travel. But why wasn't he wearing a shirt, or pants?

A swift kick in the stomach knocked her out of her dreams, the small Imp standing over her.

"Wake up. It's almost morning. Ralof left something for you." She said sternly, dropping a heavy hauberk of chain mail across her unprotected chest. She sucked in wind from the sudden weight, rolling it off to the side as Midna floated towards the stables.

Leaning forward, Bastrii looked at the gear laid out for her.

A mail chain body, a bit heavy – but much more protective than the simple leather plates she wore across her torso. It came down past her waist, and was shorter than the large tunic-like sets the men wore. With it came a familiar gambeson, tailored to fit her better than the army standard. He even included a matching set of gloves and boots!

Looking over the new armor, it seemed… off. The gears in her head turned and clicked, as she realized Ralof had changed the blue shoulder tabard with a green one. A note nearby explained it all.

"_Bastrii,"_ it began, "_Thank you for staying with us for the night. It was great to see you again, even if it wasn't under the best circumstances. The blacksmith didn't know your sizing, so it may be a bit tight – but we decided to give you something to help protect that arm a little better. Any more arrow holes and you'll need a new one! __We thought it best to change out the colors for you, to no__t__ draw in any more wandering eyes. The last thing you need is another Imperial ambush, huh?_

_ "I also saddled your Elk. He didn't like it. __H__e's in the stables. Midna should be happy with her gift, too. Just make sure she doesn't lose them, alright? We had to stitch her gloves and boots by hand, since she's so small."_

Bastrii chuckled. Of course she was going to lose them. She didn't care. She packed up her bedroll, changed gear, and headed out.

Walking to the stable, Midna was already tugging at the antler of Braehoof, who seemingly didn't want to leave. He gave a whining bugle, forcing the small Imp away until Bastrii approached.

"Easy boy, easy." She said, gently running her hand over his head. His protesting stopped, as he leaned in close against the comfort of her embrace. "Just a few more days, and I'll let you go, okay Braehoof?"

The Elk looked up to her with intelligent eyes, before nodding solemnly.

"I still don't understand why you pretend you can talk to animals. He's a stupid deer. Do you really think he cares if you let him go tomorrow or in two years from now?"

The 'deer' in question glared at the Imp, before turning his head sharply and just barely missing her with his large Antlers.

"Hey! You miserable piece of-"

"Midna, please don't antagonize him. He's willingly helping us, this isn't forced." Bastrii said, using her arms to push the two apart. "The last thing I want is for my friend and some horrible creature fighting each other."

"And which one is the_ creature?"_ Midna scowled. Bastrii didn't like that look. It was the same look her Mother gave her Father when he said something really, _really_ stupid.

"Oh, would you look at that! It's time to pack up and leave." She said, chirping as the Elk left his stall. He locked eyes with the Imp, as if saying '_this isn't over'_.

Bastrii smiled gleefully when she noticed the two large saddlebags by his hind end. She quickly took out her pack, happy to find that it could just barely fit in the empty satchel with ease – minus the bedrolls, of course. She strapped those across the end of the saddle.

Checking the other bag, she was happy to find it packed with several odds and ends, including the new clothing for Midna. She took it out, holding them up to look at them in the light, before handing the items out to her.

"What's this?" She said, eyeing the tiny gloves and warm boots. She picked the leather gauntlets up, turning them over to look at them. "Where did you find these?"

"Ralof had them made for you." Bastrii smiled, watching her slip them on. The Imp did the same with her boots, a flash of a smile on her face before it quickly returned to her usual serious look.

"It fits."

Bastrii waited.

"…They're pretty warm."

"And?"

Midna sighed, rolling her eyes. "I guess I owe him my thanks." She said finally, drawing a smile from the Bosmer.

"Oh, and there's one more thing in here, it looks like – for you, Midna." She said, pulling out a delicately wrapped bowl. She gave it to the Imp, who unwrapped it greedily.

"Yes!" She shouted, the navy beans and sausage still fresh.

"Quiet! You'll wake the whole camp." Bastrii chortled, as Midna began to dig in. She finished exploring her new saddlebags, finding a new quiver of arrows and a large, tightly wrapped canteen. In the bottom of the pack was a single, red bottle. A healing potion, just in case, along with the other potions the healer had parted with her the night before.

Climbing on top of the Elk, Bastrii gently patted his side. He began forward at a slow trot, following the path out of the thin forest and down the trail once more. Invigorated, she looked to the sunrise – the very tip of the far star breaking the distant, east most peak. Midna joined her, sitting on the side of the more roomy saddle.

With a click of its hooves, the Elk began to trail down the path and back onto the roads, keeping High Hrothgar to the west.

Bastrii withdrew her map as Braehoof led the way. "I don't suppose you've been past the this section of the mountain, huh, Brae?"

The elk shook its head, as if a flea had latched on at the wrong spot. She idly scratched him behind the ear. "Worth a shot."

The sun began to rise clear into the sky, the warm embrace of it soaking into her armor. It was cool, but not too chilly – the snow from the night prior having blown on to whiter hills. This side of the mountain had a more beautiful forest to the right; yellow aspen across the distant lake glimmered hopefully in the morning dawn, drawing in a pleasant sigh from the Bosmer.

"The forests here are strange, but so warm and inviting. I would love to build a home here, if only to enjoy the colors." Bastrii said, to no one in particular. Midna took it as idle conversation, and carried on as such.

"I wouldn't want to live here. Too much light for my tastes. Maybe if it was a bit darker, like on a cloudy day, then perhaps." Midna followed up. "But I'd much rather be home. Out of the cold, and back in my warm, massive, nearly room sized bed. Waited on hand and foot."

Midna sighed at the memory. "With my parents still alive, of course."

"You sound like royalty at home."

"Well, maybe I am? What are you going to do, hold me hostage? I'm a bit too far off from any heralds to find a ransom."

Bastrii chuckled. "They'd have to pay me to keep you."

"And what does _that_ mean?"

"Oh look, a butterfly!" She changed the subject, as Midna fumed. It was so easy to get under her skin.

"Yeah, whatever. Dragon_bird_."

The clopping of the cloven hooves on the stony path continued, Bastrii checking the sky for any signs of fire. In the distance to her south, she could see a single large plume of smoke – a camp, or maybe a home. To her far north, towards Ivarstead, were several smaller wisps of hearths.

"We should be at Ivarstead at twilight." Bastrii said, patting on Braehoof's side to go towards the rising ashy clouds.

Midna looked on silently. "Twilight..." She whispered, before turning back to face the road behind them. Her eyes looked on down the winding path, thinking quietly to herself. A small creak trickled as they passed, and she closed her eyes.

_Beneath his feet were leagues of dark, murky water. He stared into the depths of the pool, the round chamber at the center of this stony prison yawning before them both. She looked on, afraid – but didn't show it, as he clicked on his heavy, weighted boots._

_ "Link, aren't you afraid?" She asked. He looked on silently, standing over the abyss. He nodded._

_ "The Goddesses ask too much of you. Much too much. This… after that last battle, this is suicide."_

_ The cold Hylian nodded, but didn't stop his preparations. __There looked to be no exit from the cold chamber below. He stepped towards the edge, slipped the mask of the blue tunic over his face, and stepped forward, the weight of the boots – and the world – sending him down the chasm._

Midna blinked away the memory, her eyes sliding open. That's when she noticed it, in the distance. Swooping towards them from far off, its eyes locked on its prey.

"Bastrii?!" Midna shouted, pounding her shoulder hard. The Bosmer winced, her scar aching from the touch as she turned to look at her.

"What?"

"Dragon!" She shouted, pointing to the sky. Bastrii's gaze snapped to the beast, her eyes wide. Several leagues in the distance, but pointed straight for them.

She kicked her heels into the buck's sides, reaching for her bow. "What in the Nine Divines is a Dragon doing out here?!" She shouted to no one in particular, Midna floating off the side. "And why is it coming right for us!"

"I don't know!" Midna shouted, panic setting in. "Use one of your stupid wood elf tricks and get us out of here!"

Bastrii didn't have anything on hand, so she did what she thought best. Book it. Her hand pressed to the head of her Elk, and she called for him in that soothing, whispering voice – the one she used in the meadow to tame him.

And with it, Midna understood one word. "_Flee"_.

The sudden whiplash from the turn of pace nearly made Midna fall behind – her hand just barely catching on Bastrii's travel hood as she pulled herself close.

And the dragon was still gaining on them.

The Bosmer's eyes darted around, looking for something – _anything_ they could use to avoid the death approaching from their rear.

And as the dragon breathed in a breath of fire, she spotted it. A cave. Deep enough to bolt into.

"Brae! Left!" She called, guiding him towards the mountain side. He gave a short bugle in compliance, pummeling the floor as they passed a large, moving mound of fluff.

A bear.

They darted right into the cave, the Elk sliding to a stop. The powerful wings beat as the dazed bear outside was caught in a wave of charring flame – the grizzly roaring in pain. The dragon followed immediately, grabbing the burnt bear in its talons and swooping off with it.

A whole grizzly bear. It picked up a whole bear and took the beast with it.

The trio panted, the Elk bleating and pummeling its hooves against the damp cave floor in terror and frustration. Midna let her magic loose as she fell to the ground, holding her pounding chest. Bastrii fell off the saddle and joined her, plummeting to the dirt with a soft thud.

For several minutes, they only breathed. The adrenaline slowly bubbling down as Braehoof laid down, too.

"That… that was intense." Midna said, sitting up.

"I have to kill those things."

"Excuse my language Bastrii, but I think I have to use a word I picked up in Hyrule. Are you fucking crazy?" She said, standing to her feet. She clacked her boots on the floor, looking down at the worn Bosmer. "You try to fight those things, and you'll die. And if you die, it's going to kill me next. Then it will eat Braehoof for desert!"

The Elk gave a short whine.

"Braehoof said he's better as a main course." Bastrii retorted, sitting up. The Elk nodded appreciatively.

"He could be leftovers, I don't care! If you plan on killing those things, you're going to need an army. Better yet, you're going to need Link."

"Okay, I really doubt he's that good."

"I thought so too, but he's killed things twice that size, underwater, wearing boots made of iron that dragged him to the bottom!" She shouted in return. "At this point, I think it's destiny that we meet. Because there's no way in hell you're going to take one of those things on, one on one. You saw what it did to that bear. That was crazy! Nuts! Bonkers! It caught it on fire and dragged it on a wild ride!"

"To be fair, if I was a hungry dragon, bear is appetizing too."

Midna threw her arms up in defeat. "Do you at least understand what I'm saying? I don't want to die."

"Yes, I get it. You don't want to die, and you don't want me to die. You could just say it."

She refused, floating over to the cave entrance. She gave outside a weary peak, across the still aspen forests and the babbling brook.

"It looks like he left. He was probably looking for food." Midna said. "Good thing he settled for bear. Let's go."

Bastrii slowly got to her feet, noticing that a broken dagger lay beneath her. Kicking it over, she turned to look a ways deeper into the cave.

"Hold on. There might be something here." She said, eyes squinting. She gazed deeper into the cave's uncertain depths, steadying her breath as her hand traced the rocky wall. It smelled like bear, but she was uncertain if any remained.

"No, nothing is here. It's a cave. Not every cave has loot-"

Bastrii turned the corner, stubbing her toes on a wooden crate. The metal hinged wood bounced as she grasped at her toes, the chest unharmed. "Oh, would you look at that." Bastrii smiled, flipping the iron latch free of the container.

Midna crossed her arms. "It's probably empty." She said, glaring. "Why would ANYONE hide a chest in a bear den?"

Bastrii looked to her left, noticing the broken skeleton of the man responsible. Tattered leather armor lay on either side, the flies long gone. An iron sword rusted against his now bony fingers. By the looks of it, he was probably a bandit of some sort – his ribs crushed by the bear's weight.

She gingerly lifted the lid, shuffling the contents of the chest around. Several diaries, dozens of letters – five bottles of mead (as expected), a large coin pouch that swiftly joined her own, several candles (which she took a small one) along with an inkwell and unused journal that joined her pack, several precious gems that she handed to Midna, and a single silver and ruby ring, emblazoned with the Symbol of the Cadecus.

She read a few of the sparse notes to herself, her heart fluttering.

"This was a Healer's Chest. It must have been stolen from them something around… ten, twenty years ago. And this would be a Medica's Ring. It helps channel Magicka for healing spells." Bastrii smiled, slipping it over her finger. "Rings like these are only granted to the advanced healers of the Mages Guild of Anvil, in Cyrodil. I've seen these a few times before, when I was in search of a healing spell for my Father."

She flipped through the mead stained documents, the writing a bit hard to read. "Some of this would be priceless to the Mages Guild in Anvil, but that's well over a few month's journey away. By the time we reached there, there may not even be a Skyrim left."

She dropped the documents into the chest, sighing. "This research could save the lives of many. I have to take something. There's alchemy notes here, restoration, alteration – I can't just leave it in some bear cave."

She picked up the journals, her eyes alighting as she found one in particular.

"This was their spell book." She whispered, flicking through the pages. All of this magical knowledge, at her finger tips. "Barin Ganena." She said, reading his name aloud. "I've heard his name before. Back at the Mage's Guild."

She frowned, looking over the notes. It was written in a language she didn't understand.

"If you're done with your gushing, that town you were talking about would probably like to know how close they came to being a torched ruin." Midna said, slipping the gems into a small pocket on the saddlebag. "Just grab what you can and let's go."

She took the journal to her chest, slipping it past her gambeson to hold against her heart. Something this valuable must be protected. A few of the other important papers joined her belongings in her bag.

She rejoined Midna on Braehoof's back, stroking his side. He looked up to her, eyes wide in fear as she reassured him.

"It's okay boy. He was hungry, and he got what he wanted. Let's get out of here before he comes back looking for scraps."

It was all the encouragement he needed. He kicked into action, taking up an aggressive canter up along the ridge line, following the idle smoke trails passing into the sky.

The sun began to touch the far horizon as they cleared the last hurdle, the village finally in sight.

"You know," Midna began, "I used to hide from people all the time in Hyrule. I was a bit of an outcast there." She said, smiling. "But here in Skyrim, most people only give me a few weird glances, and not much else. It's much more accepting than what I'm used to."

Bastrii chuckled. "It's because most have seen, heard, or interacted with something unworldly once or thrice before. You're really not too strange. Some of the Familiars from Conjuration look weirder, and they're not that common."

"You keep saying things like Alteration, Conjuration – these are schools of Magic, right?" Midna said, thinking. "How do you channel these spells?"

Bastrii thought about it, returning to her time spent in the Anvil Mage's Guild. "Well, first you must know the incantation. You can speak it or think it, and the flow of magicka around you will bend to that energy. Then, you reach out to it, as in forcing your body to grasp it. Once you do, it's like two droplets of water meeting – you combine with the magicka, and you channel it through your body. Some have gestures you must perform while doing it, too, to bring that magic into the realm of Nirn."

"I see!" Midna said, a bit excited to hear it. "So, knowing this, I might be able to learn your Magics. That would be useful, considering how I can't do much otherwise."

Bastrii fumbled the conversation, babbling her confusion. "Hold on, what did I say about not being a target? Secondly, channeling Magicka is just as dangerous as being struck by a spell. Most people know this. Swinging a sword burns your arm, shooting an arrow burns your shoulder, hefting a shield hurts your wrist – but casting Magicka burns the rough edges of your soul."

"Then mine is as smooth as a sphere by now. I've been using Twili magic my whole life." She faced the rear of the Elk, kicking her legs up comfortably as they entered Ivarstead. A dozen or so small dwellings lined the road before them, a cobble bridge overtaking a river up the path. It led to the very first step of the Throat of the World, the first twelve in fact – before a small flight directed the trail upwards, curving steadily up the mountain.

A gust of snowy wind blew across her face, trickles of the coming weather taunting her from her position. She remembered reading the names off the map, the Darkwater River joining the White River at the curve below, filling the distant Lake Geir.

Gently patting Braehoof, they came to a stop. She looked around her – the place was a ghost town, not a soul in sight.

"Where is everyone?" Bastrii said, taking in the empty town before her. "You could hear a Septim drop from a mile away."

"I don't know what you mean. There's only a few houses here, so there can't be many people to begin with. Maybe it's lunch time? Speaking of which, I'm hungry." Midna twirled a ruby on the tip of her finger, sparing the magic to keep it balanced.

Stepping off of her mount, she patted his side. "Let's find you a stable, and have them take care of you. I don't think you've ever had a proper brushing, huh?" She smiled. The Elk nodded, seemingly more chipper as twilight began to take the land. Bastrii led her companion south, towards the lip of town. Midna hovered off to the side, looking around the empty village.

"_Vilemyr Inn_. Sounds like our stop for the night. Just in time, too – much later and we'd be caught out in the cold. Spot a stable anywhere, Midna?"

"Is a stable a place where you put horses?"

"Yes. Isn't that obvious?"

"Well, I'm asking, because there's no horses." She pointed around the corner of the Inn, a large barn left unattended. None of the stalls were in use, nor did it look like anyone had put in the effort to take care of them.

Midna laughed. "Looks like we should keep walking, huh? Why settle down for the night when we can't even find a worth while Inn to do it in?"

"Look, I'm pretty sure they've caught wind of the dragons. They're probably just hiding. It's not like they're all dead, huh?" She led Braehoof towards the open gates, letting him choose his stall. "If anyone is here, I'll make sure you're given the treatment you deserve tonight, Braehoof."

The Elk gave a short bugle, excited for what's to come. Visions of berries and other treats danced in his head, while Bastrii took the saddle off and hoisted the saddlebags onto her shoulders. His teeth nicked at the wooden gate to pull it close, once the Bosmer escaped the enclosure. Bastrii smiled, scratching him behind the ears.

Rounding the corner, she entered to find the Inn – much to her shock – empty. Only the Tavern Keeper sat on a stool, his bald head and wrinkled face looking much different compared to the usual Nords Bastrii had come across.

"Oh! Welcome to Vilemyr Inn. If there's anything I can get you, let me know." He said, with a short, but glum smile. Bastrii hadn't noticed it, but at a lone table sat a solitary Nord women, fiddling with a lute. She seemed depressed, but she paid her little mind.

Approaching the bar, the duo sat in each their own stool, taking the weight off of a long journey. Bastrii sat the bags down with a thunk, situating herself. The man eyed Midna carefully, his brows crossing in suspicion.

"Are you some kind of Daedra, or is this one of those weird fashion trends the kids are doing nowadays?" He rubbed his older eyes, as if it would fix his vision.

"No, I'm just from another country along the way." Midna said. The man thought about it, before nodding.

"Who am I to judge? Welcome. I'm Wilhelm. What can I do for you two lovely ladies?"

"A lot." Bastrii said, coughing to clear her throat. "We'd like to rent a room, please, and if someone could watch over my mount outside, that would be wonderful. I'm willing to pay a bit more if he can be well taken care of. Dinner and a drink would be appreciated, too."

"Fifteen septims for the room, eight for dinner for the both of you, twelve to take care of your horse, and what will you be drinking?" He said, as Bastrii quickly counted out the coins into the Innkeeper's palm.

"Milk." Bastrii and Midna said at the same time, the Bosmer giving her a glare as if to say '_don't take my drink'_.

Midna stared at her, her eyes saying '_I'm totally going to take your drink.'_

"I only have enough milk left for a single tankard-"

"I'LL TAKE IT!" Midna shouted, slamming the ruby on the counter. Before Bastrii could snatch it back, the old man had already pocketed the thing.

"Sold, to the midget with the crazy hair!" He said cheerfully, pouring her the last glass of milk.

Bastrii stared at her, her jaw agape.

"That was worth two hundred septims." She said, the bartender chuckling to himself over his tidy profit for the day.

"And?"

"That milk was worth two. _At best_."

"Worth it." She said, tipping it back and chugging it right in front of the Bosmer.

"Can I please have that back? That wasn't hers to give away." Bastrii glared at the bartender, her hands on the table.

"Sorry lady, a deals a deal."

"Then I'll get the guard involved."

"Oh woe is me, who unknowingly pocketed a stolen ruby, when your friend is the thief among us." He said with a grin.

"Sucks to be you." Midna said between sips, happy to see the Elf suffer if only for a minute.

Bastrii had enough.

"Fus!" She shouted, knocking the unsuspecting bartender to the floor with the power of her voice. Midna toppling over in her chair as the sudden wave of energy knocked the mug onto her face, spilling the contents across her – and the floor. A few metal cups danced along the stone below, wooden plates joining them.

"Whoa lady, calm down!"

"It's Dragon_born_."

"Whatever, here, just take it! Keep that magic of yours to yourself!" He tossed the Ruby up onto the counter, Bastrii catching it with a smile.

"See? Was that really so hard?" She said, with a deadpan glare.

She turned to the nearby room, "Is this mine?" The angry Elf continued, having had it with being walked all over.

"Yes, whatever room you want! You pick it, it's yours."

She opened the door, grabbing her Saddlebag and tossing it inside. She looked down at the stunned Imp, who was wiping her face clear in the stunned silence.

Bastrii grabbed a towel from the bar, and dropped it on her. "Clean yourself up. We leave at dawn."

And with that, she slammed the door shut behind her, leaving the bar an absolute mess.


	5. Chapter 5

Midna slowly hefted her body from the floor, soaked to the core with the white drink. She held the musty cloth in front of her, dropping it to the stone. It reeked like mildew.

"What in the Nine Divines was that?" The lute girl said, eyes wide. "All of that over a tankard of milk?"

Midna was quiet, settling back down on the stool that was once occupied by her Guide. Luckily, her shirt wasn't too soaked – just a splash across the front, most of which will drip out. It was more so where it all landed – on her neck, and down her chest.

"Lynly, would you help an old Nord and take care of their horse out back? Last thing I want is to get into a shouting match with that knife-eared whore."

The bar maid nodded, setting her lute on the table. Tying back her brown hair, she made for the door at a brisk pace.

With none left in the bar but Wilhelm and Midna, the young Twili felt very lonely indeed.

"So..." She said, setting her gloves to the side – twiddling her thumbs. "I don't suppose you know anywhere I could learn magic, huh? I feel like I'm going to need it soon."

The man spat into nearby bucket, giving the young imp a glare. "I've got no interest in magic users. No use for their kind at all. They're way up north in Winterhold, and that's fine by me – I don't even like our Jarl havin' a court wizard."

"_W__ell__,_" Midna thought to herself, "_After our little talk with those old light-dwellers, I'll probably have to head there next. Alone."_

"If you've got any thoughts about talking to that cannibal, don't waste your time. All Bosmer are the same. Meat eating, bow shooting, knife eared elves with a short temper to match their height. Each one of them has the patience of a toddler waiting for their spoon full of honey. I wouldn't be surprised if your '_friend'_ did this often."

Midna tried to ignore the Tavern Keeper, as he went about retrieving his misplaced dishware.

Is she really, though? Is Bastrii really that impatient, that short tempered? Through their whole journey, it had been more of the opposite – no matter how much she poked her, Bastrii bit her tongue. No matter how often she demanded they kept going, that Elf demanded patience. That the miles would be made in time.

And now they were finally here. Right beneath the Throat of the World, and she pushed her a bit too far. After all that Elf had done for her, and this is how she acts?

Midna sighed, resting her head in her hands. She used to treat Link the same way, too. Trying to push him to his limits, demanding more of him than she was worth. She hoped he would forgive her, if she found him again.

If? When. When she found him. He was still alive, somewhere. He had to be.

Her mind soon turned to the now, the guilt eating at her quite a bit.

An apology was in order. A real one. And maybe there was something she could do to connect with her a little more.

The door to the Tavern swung open, Lynly stepping in – looking a little rough around the edges. "You didn't tell me she had an Elk for a horse."

Wilhelm scrunched his brow in confusion. "Don't you mean, 'Elk for a mount'? 'Horse' makes no sense. And what kind of tree hugging shenanigans is that? An Elk?"

"Horse, mount, companion, whatever. That thing is probably rabid." The barmaid plopped herself down onto the chair, giving a bored sigh. "Damn thing made a swing at me with its antlers when I tried to brush him."

The gears clinked in Midna's head, as the bartender sighed.

"Well, now I've got to refund her. And I ain't in the mood with dealing with that."

"Here, give me the money. I'll take care of him." Midna said quietly, sticking her small, gloved hand out. Wilhelm chuckled.

"You? The midget who comes up to knee height? What are you going to do, wash his legs?"

Midna glared, biting her tongue. Taking a page out of Bastrii's book to avoid further confrontation.

"Well, alright. As long as I'm not the one dealing with that piece of shit knife-ear in the morning. I oughta toss her to the snow and let the wolves have her, but I could use the money since the spirits in that crypt have been acting up. They've been driving my regulars out of town, and pilgrims aren't worth what they bring."

He eyed Midna. "Say, you've been looking for magic, right?" His crooked smile returned, eyeing the Imp before him. "I may have something you'll like, then. Lynly, do you still have that book that wandering mage left?"

She nodded, grabbing her bag and quietly withdrawing a book. It was a black cover, a red hand imprinted on the front – coupled with flames to highlight its design. It looked old, worn, but something about it radiated magic.

"That there, is a Destruction Spell book. I was planning on selling it, if Lynly couldn't learn the spell to defend herself with. You learn it, Lynly?"

"Can't get past the first few pages."

"I thought so. See, I'll give you this book, right now – up front. If you can read it, and cast that spell by late tonight, you can even keep it. I'll toss in some kind of reward, too. All you have to do, is go to Shroud Hearth Burrow – east of here – and deal with whatever is causing this madness.

"I can't tell you why it would be haunted, only that a year ago, some hard headed Dunmer went in adventuring. He never came back out."

Midna took the offered book into her hands, her eyes alight with fire. While she hasn't directly fought much over the span of her life, she has always been an advocate of practicing Twili magic. Now, she can master another form of spell casting.

She tossed open the cover of the book, absolutely delighted to find it written in simple ancient runic; a standard form of spell casting in the Twilight Realm. While there were many, many differences in the writing – it was legible, though she would need a moment to translate each individual word.

The book was thin, too – but only in knowledge. The first several pages were inscribed with only two spells, each of which could easily be discerned as fire elemental types. The inscriptions leading to the runic wheel were worn. It looked like an apprentice's spellbook, some of the writing shoddy and illegible, describing the finer aspect of each spell. Like the somatic and verbal requirements.

"Give me a minute, and you'll have a row of corpses to clean up." She smiled, her fang poking free of her mouth. "Oh, and food. Bastrii paid for food."

He gave his barmaid a curt nod, as she took to the back of the Inn to wrestle with dinner for his guests. Midna was handed the extra twelve septims, which she slipped into a makeshift pocket in her jack. Makeshift, because she made it herself, and it functioned more like a hole in the pelt than anything.

She turned to a distant table, floating towards it as she flipped through the pages, settling on the first, simple spell.

And with little left to do, she wasted the next few hours practicing an incantation with little results. She had already finished her roasted goat leg by the time a spark emitted from her hand, Wilhelm and Lynly having found their own separate rooms to sleep.

As Midnight soon approached, she thought back to what Bastrii had said about magic.

"Reach out and touch it." She said to herself. "How do you reach out and touch magic? Twili magic flows in the veins of every citizen of my realm. We're like little magnets for the stuff. But this?" She groaned.

"I have to put in actual effort to conjure it. Great."

But her mind turned back to the thought, and she tried again. She closed her eyes, imagining her hand reaching out and touching the invisible power around her. She could feel its essence. The heat. She could feel it burning within the book, itching to be released.

"Ignis?" She whispered, holding her palm up. A live flame sprung to life, dancing over the Twili's hand. Her mouth fell open in awe, as the fire sprung lightly back and forth, without heat.

She turned back to the book, reading over the next part of the incantation.

"Feel the warmth of the flame against your soul, and will it to fly true. '_Ignis __aereo.'"_

The flame shot up into the air, nearly tickling the roof in that briefest moment as she clenched her fist in terror. She gazed up at the hay above her. A few smoldering embers of straw burned out, a black spot formed where the flames torched.

"I should probably do this outside. Romantic as it would be to burn down an Inn full of people, I'd really like to not anger the locals.

She hovered towards the door, checking over the next spell and incantation. It came instantly to her now, as she took those feelings to heart and called the magic to her.

"Face the frost of your enemy's hearts, and ask it to melt their core. '_Ignis bolt.'"_

A soaring ball of fire shot free of her hand, bursting into sparks over the distant bridge. This time, she felt a stirring pain from her wrists – as if she touched a nerve. The raw pain filtered through her arms, an unfamiliar sensation washing over her.

"Oh. _That's_ what Bastrii meant about channeling magic." She clenched her fist over the flame, letting it dissipate once again. A short bugle from behind made her turn around, facing the stall with the Elk.

Midna floated over to it, smiling mischievously. "Well if it isn't the stupid cow. Enjoying your barn?" She said, in that same tone of voice she used when speaking to a cute creature. "You can't understand a word I say, can you? Isn't that right, you big stupid baby?"

She cooed at the unamused Cervine, who could only glare back. She laughed and turned around, the clink of metal catching her ear.

"Huh?"

A creak from behind alerted her, the Elk having undone the latch to his stable.

"Whoa now, easy there stupid cow – Bastrii will throw a fit if you got out of your cage."

The Elk stepped forward, dragging a cloven hoof across the floor. Testing the dirt. Feeling its give.

"H-Hey, what are you doing? Are you going to charge me?" Midna slowly began to float backwards, her gaze struck wide in terror.

Midna's eyes said, "_please don't do it."_

Breahoof's eyes retaliated with: "_I'm totally going to do it."_

And then his hooves hit the floor, stampeding forward as Midna fled east towards the barrow – hoping to outrun the Elk before it could gore her.

She darted around the side of a building, Braehoof snorting in frustration as the Imp nearly lost the hold of her levitation. The lack of shadow magic making it hard to gain any height as the beast rounded the corner and made another dash for her.

"Look, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Stop! Stop!" She shouted, hugging the wall as those antlers made a swing for her, almost clipping her jacket. She bounced off the stone nearby, the Elk missing a follow up lunge as his antlers scraped across the rocky wall. He snorted, but Midna had already cleared the alley – and was headed straight for the barrow.

At antler height, unfortunately.

The Elk rushed forward, finally clipping the Imp on her backside as she found herself completely pinned against the galloping mount. She tried to float forward, her arms hooked around the base of the antlers as he bucked his head up – attempting to toss her over.

Suddenly, their feud grew to a melodramatic close as a blue light dimly crossed the road towards the barrow. The Elk's quiet gallop turned into a trot, a canter, then a full stop as the dazed Imp caught her breath.

She looked at the strange light, the transparent figure of a man making is way towards the tomb. He glowed an otherworldly blue, his pace slow as he slipped under the stone roof, and opened the wooden door into the gloomy depths of the crypt.

Midna slowly slumped off of Braehoof's head, falling to the floor with a pained moan. She rubbed her back, turning to see the beast above glaring at her.

Her eyes met the creature's, and that's when she saw it. It was dim, but there was a spark of real intelligence there. His eyes reading her like a book.

"I'm sorry." She said.

The Elk stared deep into her eyes, his chocolate irises judging her words.

He raised his head with a snort, before turning back towards the barn. Leaving the Imp to her bruises.

Slowly, the Imp made it to her feet. Popping her back with her hands as she dusted herself off, winded. That Elk could gallop – nearly twice as fast as Link's horse in Hyrule.

Now she needed to make it up to Bastrii, and her… _smart_ Elk. Very smart Elk.

She sighed. She'll figure it out as she goes, as she always does.

Finding the spellbook, she was happy to note that at the very least it wasn't damaged in the tussle. She must have dropped it when Braehoof rammed her. She kept it close to her side, floating towards the barrow unimpeded.

She sighed to herself, "Let's get this over with."

Midna approached the wooden door, tossing it open with a flick of her hair's Shadow-Hand.

"_Ignis_", she said, clutching the flame in her palm. Letting the dim light of it dance across the stone walls, her eyes flicking about the darkness before her. Deeper into the barrow, a few sparse torches lit the path. She noticed that same apparition from before, turning past a corner as she followed behind near mute – her floating preventing her from making a simple noise.

She peaked around, just in time too – he saw his hands fiddling with the gate, locking it behind him. A burlap bag to his side as he picked it up, and went on his way. Past another door that clicked shut behind him.

"Why would a ghost need to lock a gate?" She said to herself, floating over to give it a silent tug. It wouldn't budge. "And what could he be hiding in the bag?..."

She turned to notice another door, just beyond the torch light. Floating towards it, she gave the handle a gentle turn. It opened with relative ease, creaking open slowly. She slid in, letting it clink shut behind her. This new section of the tomb was dark, the air unmoving.

"Knowing tombs, this probably stretches all the way around to the other side. Let's see what our little '_ghost'_ is really up to."

She levitated her way through the passageway, noting just how empty the place really was. Besides bundles of dead light dwellers, the only thing to really note is how many weird contraptions were about. There was a spiked wall that seemed to connect to some sort of spring mechanism, but she floated past it without issue. A few more traps lay in wait, but… nothing came of it.

Then she looked down, and her eyes widened in shock.

There were dozens of elevated, misshapen stones jutting out of the floor, marked with nearly unnoticeable runes.

"If I had walked down here, I wouldn't have made it very far." She laughed to herself, spotting a chest. It had a very obvious string connected to the lid. She pointed the ball of flame towards the tiny rope, whispering; "_aereo_."

The flames jutted forward in spiraling heat, washing over the thin string. It snapped, and a dozen darts shot into the dirt around the container. She grimaced at the thought of someone failing to disarm it, plucking one of the pieces of iron from the dirt. It was coated in a layer of sickly green slime, and it smelled horrible.

"Venom? Someone really wants to keep people out." She said, looking over the construction of the traps around her. While they were definitely effective, the weapons and construction of it all seemed shoddily built. As if made in a rush, after the tomb was constructed.

"A lot of effort when you could just… lock the door." She frowned. "Then again, someone could just break it down, meaning they could walk right through without anything to stop them. A dead body at your door step is easier to deal with than a live one."

She popped open the chest, frowning as she pulled out a red hood with a short scarf, a necklace of some sort, and a small bag of coins. There were also a bunch of useless papers in the bottom, but nothing that really caught her eye.

She put the hood over her helmet, trying to figure out what to do with the scarf. It was too big to fit comfortably on her neck. An idea crossed her mind, as she mimicked those soldiers she met back at that camp. She tossed the length of the scarf around the hem of the cowl, the excess length going over her chest like a sash, or bandoleer. She wrapped it around her waist like a belt, finding a buckle in the chest to go with it.

It was gold and inlaid with a ruby, similar to the gem Bastrii complained about. Something about it twinkled in her eye, as she used it to clip on her new 'belt'.

The necklace, she slipped around her neck – tucking it into her shirt.

She realized that, with this new hood, she couldn't really use her Fused Shadow – and that it was drawing the warm cloth tight around her neck, anyway. She slipped the hood back, letting her hair free.

She'll have to figure out what to do, later, as the Fused Shadow wasn't made to be work like a helmet all the time. Maybe she could keep it in a bag...

Making her way around the bend of the corridor, she found herself at one last door. Pushing it open slowly, it gave way without a single creak nor crack of the wood. The lights burned bright in the hollow, fresh torches lit around the chamber. She peaked around carefully, taking in the scene before her.

Several dozen bottles of all shapes and sizes lined the room, a messy bed in the far corner covered in the used clothes and old rags. A dozen books lay to its side, a plate of bread and cheese on the floor with a spilled mug. A small table across the room hosted the shape of that same ghost from before – hunched over the foul smelling alchemy lab he constructed, dealing with a variety of potions before him. He was mashing some kind of leaf with a pestle and mortar.

She floated in quietly around a secure corner, the 'ghost' paying her no mind. On the far wall were sketches of an odd talon, dozens of sketches in fact – all of which seemed to be hastily drawn as reminders.

She was caught in an impasse. Should she speak to the spirit? Attack it? What if her magic went right through?

And that's when she noticed it. Her 'specter' slowly began to fizzle and sparkle, that transparent body of his growing thicker as the colors slowly returned to his form. He growled in frustration, spitting on the floor as the effects wore off.

The leather clad Dunmer cursed to himself, weary.

"_Damn it, Wyndelius! Why can't you make a long lasting potion_?" He said, angry at himself. "But I did! It lasted the whole outing – I found food, I stole it from their gardens – it didn't wear thin!"

"_Oh, he's crazy."_ Midna thought to herself, amused. She watched him prattle on about his failures.

"_But my patience is wearing thin, Wyndelius. You haven't found the claw!_" He growled. His voice shifting between two sides of the same coin. This was exaggerated by his tone, which played along to his insanity. "The Claw is here, it's in the town! It must be… Ivarstead. It can't have gone far. It couldn't have!"

"_They took it and you know it!_" Wyndelius shouted to himself, throwing an empty mead bottle to the ground. "_We should burn them, raze the village! Find it in the ash!"_

"They are stupid farmers and sheep folk! They wouldn't – they couldn't!"

"_We have fought long enough. Find the claw. Burn the village. Find the claw, burn the village._"

"Just… one more day, please, m'lord."

Midna had heard enough. Either this man was dealt with, or he'd probably go nuts and kill everyone to find some stupid claw. And while she didn't care about the village at all, she did care if she didn't get breakfast in the morning.

Floating around the corner, she drew her two hands forward. She canted the word in her head, as flames sparked from her palms.

_"Face the frost of your enemy's hearts, and ask it to melt their core. 'Ignis bolt.'" _She whispered, the Dunmer turning slowly to the sound.

"Does someone live among the dead-" A ball of fire blasted directly at his face, the Dunmer ducking out of the way with a yelp. The flames burst against the wall, raining against his leather-clad back as he looked up in fear. "_None may disturb our home!_" His second voice yelled, as Midna cast another bolt at the prone man.

He quickly rolled out of the way, Midna gasping at the sudden pain in her nerves. The Dunmer wasted no time, making it to his feet as he canted in some sort of tongue. A bolt of lighting shot free from his open palm, but Midna quickly ducked out of the way – against the wooden bookshelf. Her head unobscured from her hood, she threw her gaze around the room for an opportunity.

She spotted a chair just around the corner, the insane man making his way over to his now scarred wooden shelf. Midna turned and reached for the chair with her magic hand, darting from the cover of the books as she grabbed hold of it.

The incantation started again, as she spun around with the wooden rest – slamming it against the Dunmer's shoulder. He gave a pained howl as the wood shattered against him, stumbling to his knees. His arm fell uselessly to his side, broken.

He scurried forward under a table, knocking it to its side to create a barrier between him and his assailant. A new cant started, as Midna tried to call the power of flames to her hands.

But she was too slow. The Dunmer stood up, his unbroken hand outstretched before him as a continuous stream of lightning arched into Midna's frail body, her form growing stiff. She fell to the floor with a hard thud, every single nerve and fiber of her body screeching in protest as she tried to stand up.

But the Dunmer had already crossed the table, an embalming knife in his good arm as he approached the down Twili.

"Shame a Daedra like you had no Master, otherwise I'd gut you in front of him!" He shouted, kneeling down before the fallen Imp. His arm raised up to pierce her, but her Shadow-Hand shot up to meet his. The weakened grip of her orange hair meagerly pushed back at him, the fear of the approaching death growing with every inch the Dunmer forced downwards.

Midna gave one last weak heave, tilting her head into it as she angled the blade into his leg. It slammed forward with their combined might, shattering his kneecap. She sloppily rolled to her side, standing up with a grunt.

Wyndelius was unable to do anything but scream as his good arm tried to pry the blade from his destroyed joint. Midna couldn't reach for her Twili magic to hover, nor could her body draw at the abundant magic of Nirn around her. She looked around for anything she could use to end this, and that's when she spotted a dagger that fell from the downed table.

Her Shadow-Hand took it, and she turned back to the crying man on the floor. A tinge of guilt coursed through her veins, as she drew it back and slammed it into his head.

He slumped forward when the knife burrowed into his skull, his limp body dragging across the stone. He came to a deathly halt, blood spilling across the tile.

Midna toppled onto her knees, panting from the exertion. Feeling her nerves twitch and sizzle within her veins, her eyes clenching shut as she fought back the pain.

She remembered all of those times Link had fought for her, and was injured. All of the scrapes, bruises, gashes, cuts, stings, and lacerations he received. How she had sat there above him, and yelled at him to get back up from the safety of the shadows. How she demanded he keep moving, even when he was a broken, heaving mess from the pain.

She thought about it long and hard, sighing. Three. Three people, or Elks, she had to apologize to.

Another thought hit her as she sat before the dead body. She could never do this on her own. One crazed man had almost managed to kill her, when she clearly had the upper hand. Just one stray arrow, a short spell, a blade – and she could very well take her last breath.

She looked at the life she had taken, stomaching it. It was the first _person_ she had ever killed. A crazed man in an old Tomb. She sighed, standing to her feet. Brushing herself off.

How did Link do it? Kill something and just… go on, as if nothing happened. She didn't want to know. She felt like she lost a piece of herself today, her magic fluttering pack into her as while slowly floated up into the air.

She would need something to prove that she killed him, without doing something gruesome like… chopping off his head.

On the alchemy table sat a small journal. She scooped it up, noting the scratchy handwriting on it.

While she couldn't actually _read_ the book, the quill and ink pot gave away that it was something from his own collection. Not a spell book, of course – she looked over the pages, finding not a single rune within. If she could read the native language here, it would definitely help. She sighed, looking for a bag to stuff it in, along with her Destruction Spellbook.

A little red bag caught her eye – a tiny satchel, with hooks to strap to a belt. It was roomy enough to fit both tomes, which she quickly latched to her sash. It was tucked away against the bed, and filled with several weird mushrooms and fungi she couldn't name, even if she wanted to.

And last but not least, she found a key. It was obvious where this one went to. Popping the wooden door and unlocking the gate, she escaped through the entrance with a sigh.

Fresh air. She never thought she'd miss it that badly. And after her dungeon diving, she felt incredibly lonely.

"Maybe I should check with that Elk." She said idly, floating up towards the hill. Indeed, he was right there in his stall – as if he never even left, the latch closed shut behind him. He was curled up on the hay, his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful.

She undid the latch, and he snapped awake. His eyes piercing the darkness of the night as he looked her over. He was still angry, that was obvious when he gave a huff and went back to his rest.

She settled down on her two legs in front of him, looking him over with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Braehoof." She said, using his name. His ears flicked, acknowledging her words, but he didn't look at her.

A little frustrated at the lack of immediate results, she pushed on. "I'm sorry I've been terrible to you the past few days. You don't deserve it. Thank you for all you've done for us, even if I haven't showed it yet." She reached forward, gently petting his head.

He finally gave in, raising his head up to meet her hand. He looked towards the Inn, then back at the Imp. As if asking questions she couldn't understand, but only guess at.

"If you're asking about Bastrii, she's mad at me too." She frowned. "I may have been bad to you, but I've been worse to her. I'm trying to make up for it, by doing a little work to pay her back. That's why I went into that hill over there." She pointed towards the East, the Cervine nodding.

He sniffed her, wincing at the smell of burnt hairs and fresh blood, the mixture of tomb dirt letting his thoughts run wild over what she could have been doing in there.

Her muscles twitched, her nerves still a bit jittery after her fight.

"I also offered to help take care of you tonight. But I don't know what you'd like me to do." She said, reaching up to scratch behind his ears. He gave a gentle brae, leaning into her delicate, gloved fingers.

His head tilted to the side, his antler catching behind her as she pulled her in. The Imp gave a short gasp, stumbling over until she was pressed against his chest.

"You want some company too, I guess, huh?" She said. The Elk nodded, and she couldn't resist the smile creeping up on her face.

"I guess we all get a little bit lonely, now and again." She smiled, floating up to the nearby saddle. She took her hide bedroll off of the seat, unfurling it against the Elk's chest. Using him as a pillow, she slipped in to the cozy comfort of her travel blanket, the hay beneath a bit musty but none-worse for wear.

"I'll sleep in here with you, tonight, Braehoof. Thank you for forgiving me. Let's hope I wake up before Bastrii does." She smiled, curling up in her blanket. She set her helmet to the side, feeling more comfortable with her ability to defend herself now that she had mastered the element of fire.

She would leave that knowledge as a surprise to Bastrii, whenever the moment came. Her eyes slid shut, breathing in the warmth of the Elk as she grew comfortable in her temporary bed. Her body heavy, sleep clawed at her until she finally gave in, the world growing quiet.

_The Hylian clutched at his tattered arm, __the blue armor clinging tightly to his soaked body. The water drained extraordinarily fast out of the crack in the bottom, the beast rattl__ing__ in its death throws. The man gasped, realizing the suction was drawing it towards the dying worm._

_ He kicked his legs desperately, fighting the current as the water receded towards the depths – thousands of gallons spilling into a vast unknown beneath the lake above. He cried out, precious air bubbles spilling from his mouth as his enchanted helm flew free from his face. Without a source of oxygen, darkness tinged his vision._

_ Midna __held back her__ panic __as well as she could__, watching from the safety of the shadows. Link's useless arm leaking the precious crimson life into the water as he struggled with the pain, blood loss, and water all at once._

_ The __icy lake__ was growing low, __and__ he didn't have time to strap on his boots – facing the crushing death of being sucked into the void __if he couldn't keep up with the demand__. The tail end of the beast gave a last gasp of a fight, slamming hard into the man's shoulder as he was tossed clear of the emptying water._

_ He landed hard against the far wall, losing his mind to unconsciousness._

_ "Link!_"

"Link!" Midna mumbled in her nightmare, the Elk's cold nose pressing to her cheek. She instantly snapped awake, nearly slamming her face against the creature's muzzle. Startled, she panted in the thin light of the coming dawn. Her eyes burned with fresh tears, clutching her chest in fear.

She was back in Skyrim, surrounded in the warmth of her new, comfortable bedroll. She turned to the worried Elk, his soft nose bumping her cheek again.

"I'm okay, Braehoof. Thank you." She said, running a hand along his jaw. He snorted, flicking his head towards the Inn. She could see the smoke from the chimney, signifying that someone must be awake.

"I'll go check. Have you eaten yet?" She asked, scratching behind his ears. He bugled softly, motioning to the empty feed and water troughs. She sighed.

"I think I saw a grain barrel across the way, and the well should be nearby – you can eat grain, right? If you even know what that is."

The Elk blinked.

"I guess we'll find out, huh?"

* * *

Please tell me if I'm missing anything! I'm researching lore and quests as I go, but the layout of dungeons wont be exactly the same as they are in Skyrim. (I do have a character I walk across world with, but mostly, I stick to in-game descriptions and screenshots to keep things fast paced.)

I'll probably include more side characters in the future, and any unnamed characters will be given a name if necessary. There will also be a lot of OCs, too, that keep to the lore as close as possible.

I think Bastrii was the closest fit to Dragonborn that I could get, that wasn't Native to Skyrim. I specifically wanted a character that would feel like an outsider, and Bosmer/Wood Elf fit the bill quite well. I chose female because I wanted her to feel different from Link, while keeping some of the same vibe he would traditionally give off. Anyway, enough rambling! Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

"I guess I should go check the Tavern, huh? Have you eaten yet?" She asked, scratching behind his ears. He bugled softly, motioning to the empty feed and water troughs. Midna sighed.

"I think I saw a grain barrel across the way, and the river should be clean – you can eat grain, right? If you even know what that is."

The Elk blinked.

"I guess we'll find out, huh?" She floated out of the stall, finding the specific storage across the way. She pulled the loose lid up, happy to find it full of feed. Finding the nearby bucket, the Twili brought him a fresh batch to his stall. Dumping the contents into the trough, he gave it a little sniff.

A taste convinced him to feast like a king, a happy whine reaching her ears.

Midna laughed to herself. "Of course you can eat grain." Rolling her eyes, she flew towards the river. She reached for her Shadow-Arm to do the work, but frowned when she realized she left her Fused Shadow under the watch of her new friend.

Sighing, she hovered over the shore line, and dipped the bucket in with her hands. The weight of it dragged her down, her magic barely able to keep her afloat from the sheer weight. The Imp almost faltered, floating unsteadily towards the now oh-so-distant water trough.

Heaving, she tipped it in with a sigh. The Elk bugled in appreciation for his new friend, and set to work on emptying everything he could through the endless abyss of his stomach.

"Jeez, it must have been a while, huh?" She said, throwing the bucket to the floor behind her. The Elk grunted, tackling the water to wash down his grains. Midna returned to the stall, packing up her bedroll and returning her fused shadow where it belonged – her head.

After consolidating her loot from the barrow, she counted out her newfound wealth of coins.

"I have no idea how much these… suptomes are worth on their own, but I think 103 is a good number to start on." She smiled, strapping the coins to the inside of her sash. They fit snug against her body, away from prying eyes or seedy hands.

Making her way towards the Inn, she slipped inside with a yawn. Lynly was playing her lute to two other Nords in meager clothes, Wilhelm fiddling idly with several coins. He brightened up when he saw the Twili floating towards him, flicking his coins back into a pouch.

"I see you made it back. I take it you've been through the Barrow, eh?" He said with a grin, eager to hear the news.

Midna produced a journal, slipping it across the counter. "I found a blue skinned man in there, he was raving about a claw. From the looks of it, he was using some sort of potion to make him look like a ghost."

"A potion? Here, let me see that book."

He brought it over to his side of the table, reading it with a weary eye. He mumbled to himself for a moment, sighing.

"I can't believe this! It was all just some… fabrication of this Wyndelius character? I just can't believe we were so stupid. Look, the least I can do is give you that stupid claw as payment. Why he would want in to that draugr filled crypt is beyond me. If you won't take it as payment, consider it a gift. Just don't lose it until you've used it, alright? There's only one of them."

He turned to his room, shaking his head. For several minutes, he cursed and grunted from around the corner – a basket clattering to the ground that spilled its contents across the room. Trinkets, bobbles, odds and ends – tools, you name it. He finally returned, panting in frustration as he dropped it on the table. It was dull, with a sapphire shell that gleamed in the dim light of the bar.

"It's not worth much outside of exploration, but you might be able to find something useful down in the depths of that barrow. We used to bury our dead deep down there long ago, but we haven't used the later sections of the crypt since the draugr made their stand."

Midna nodded, holding the sapphire claw in her gloved hand. She turned it over, noting the three time worn symbols on the front. A moth, an owl – and she gave a sad sigh at the last image – a wolf.

"Thanks." She said, tucking the piece under her shoulder as she floated over to Bastrii's door. It slid open with a turn of the knob, the Imp hovering over the bedside. She noticed the second bed and groaned. It would have been a lot comfier to share a room in the stony silence then out with Braehoof, but there's nothing she could do about it now.

Closing the door for privacy, she gently tapped the Elf on the shoulder. Her eyes flicked open, glaring up at the unwanted guest above her.

"Good morning, Bastrii." She said, giving her an encouraging smile. "I earned this. Look."

She placed the figure on the bed, the Elf slowly picking it up with her bare hands.

"I've seen something like this before. Back in Bleak Falls Barrow. How'd you come across it?"

"I helped that old man clear out his 'ghost' infestation in the crypt, right across town. He gave me this as an award." She smiled down at her, trying her best to be nice.

Bastrii sat up, the blankets falling free of her barren torso as she looked it over. Midna giggled, but the Wood Elf paid her no mind.

"You know that this is a key to a door, right?"

Midna sighed and frowned. "I'm guessing that means another delay, right?"

Bastrii nodded. For a moment, Midna almost acted on her impulse to roll her eyes and whine about wasting time, but she let the emotion go. "Alright."

"So you're okay with us exploring the deeper crypt?"

"If it makes you happy."

Bastrii chuckled. "I mean, I'm in it for the gold. Nords bury more treasure than they do bodies. With permission to enter the deep tombs, we could find abandoned coin from years past. This will pay the way to the top of the mountain."

Midna frowned. "Are we really that desperate for supplies? I'm sure it's not that long of a hike. We got through the forest just fine."

"We're more than likely going to need a full cart of it to make it to the top – and more protection from the cold, for us and Braehoof. There's going to be plenty of snow, but precious little fire wood, so we're going to have to really stock up to reach the peak. Many pilgrims die on those slopes, or perish when they're turned away by the Graybeards. It's not a pleasant journey."

Midna sighed, and nodded. She reached into her belt, withdrawing her coin purse she took from the chest. It weighed heavily in Bastrii's palm, the precious coins dancing in the leather bag.

The Bosmer gazed at the gold in wonder, her eyes flicking between her companion and the bag. She weighed it, splashing it against the bed to count out its contents. She joined it with her own purse, ending with a smile.

"190 septims. If we can find a trader who will take the Ruby for full price, and whatever he'll pay for the Amethysts and Garnets, we'll hopefully break 500. Enough for a cart, two bags of grain, a larger tent, and plenty of other foods to go with the smoked venison I have in our pack. Not counting a pot to cook it all in. Then all we need is enough leather to make more gear, and we should be fine. I can stitch what we need from there."

She sighed, slipping the coins equally into the two pouches. "But even then, it's probably not enough. I don't want to leave a cart full of precious cargo right outside of an Inn. We should delve in first. If we have enough time afterwords, we can get a noon start."

She stretched by the bedside, looking between Midna and her clothes.

"Could you uh… give me some privacy?" She said.

"Oh, right."

Midna slipped outside the Inn and waited, the Bosmer taking her time getting ready. The Imp drummed her fingers on her shoulders, looking about the much more lively town.

A group of people seemed busy on the far side of the barrows – tending to fields of crop. Several guards passed by, keeping an eye to the sky, talking amongst themselves.

"I'm surprised the Dragon didn't lay waste to this place myself. Did you see it yesterday?"

"No, and I don't want to. This job is trouble enough with the Thieves Guild prowling the streets. You know a Member of theirs was caught not more than three months ago, fleeing from Bruma Pass towards Riften? The Southern Patrol lost him between Arrowflash and Ivarstead."

"What did he do?"

"He stole a chest from Anvil, in Cyrodil – of the late great healer, Barin Ganena. They say his spell book is worth ten thousand septims, easy."

"Ah, my cousin in Winterhold raves about that old Breton all the time. I didn't know he passed." One of the taller Nordic guards said.

"And he passed with his secrets, too. A shame. We'll see less healers because of that."

"_Didn't Bastrii mention something about that book being from a place called Anvil?"_ Midna thought to herself.

The door swung open to the Inn, Bastrii stepping out with her armaments in tow. She slid her bow over her quiver, making her way east towards the barrow.

"I paid for another night, to keep track of our bags. We should be fine until morning." Bastrii said, turning the corner. Midna floated idly alongside her, the Elf carrying the claw in her hands. "You said you were in here before. Did you see a large, circular door by any chance? With three symbols on it?" She asked, leading the way into the old tomb. She pushed open the aged iron doors with little difficulty.

"So many questions, so little time! I didn't see it, but I did see another door in the far end of the temple. Maybe it's behind that?"

"Maybe." Bastrii stepped into the barrow, slipping around the wooden staircase quickly. The wooden floor creaked heavily beneath her, as she came to the tight, main landing below.

"Where did you see it? Left? Right?"

"Right. Careful of the traps."

Bastrii made her way around the corner, the tight confines of the burial chamber making it hard to see ahead. She kept a weary eye to the floor, accidentally setting off a fire trap directly ahead of her. She stopped, waiting for the oil to burn.

She found the entrance soon after, triggering another trap with a rock. A dozen spears plunged out of the wall, before sliding back slowly into position. She stepped over the switch, tossing open the wooden barrier.

There, at the far end of the tunnel, was the Claw Wall that seemed so familiar to her now. Holding the sapphire talon in her hand, she looked at the treasure's wrist and the circular bands around the keyhole.

"Moth, eagle, wolf. Simple." She said, moving and clicking the massive tumblers into place. She held three prongs to the holes above, pressing the sapphire hand in. She heaved and turned it to her right, the lock popping out as old gears began to whirl and clink within the walls.

"You make this all look so easy." Midna teased. It wasn't a very hard puzzle.

"Oh, do I now? I thought _I_ was the one making things difficult." Bastrii said bluntly, the door slipping down into a crack of the floor. It gave a mighty _thunk_ as it latched in place.

Midna sighed. She was going to hear a lot of harsh comments from Bastrii until she made it up to her.

The elf started forward into the deeper sections of the catacombs, her eyes turning a curious glance around the dozens of sarcophagi about her. They were all sealed, and definitely showing their age. The Bosmer unsheathed her bow.

"Careful of the Draugr. Most are weak with age, but some don't let go of their old lives and cling to the strength they once had. Don't do anything to draw their attention, there's very little room to hide." Bastrii whispered, crouching down as she entered the doorway. She clung to the shadows, an arrow resting on her string.

Midna followed close above her, her eyes darting up to the doorways as they slammed shut. The old tombs shifted as the slabs in front fell off. Behind them rested the ancient remains of fallen Nords, their ancient armor scraggy and worn from time; their well embalmed bodies still held skin. The two corpses stood deadly still, before their eyes lit with a blue flame.

The first one slumped over, an arrow embedded in its skull as Bastrii withdrew a fresh flight from her quiver. The second one shambled across the stone floor, spotting the hiding Bosmer in the darkness. It swung deftly with its ax, but the swing went wide as Bastrii stepped back.

The second arrow embedded in its chest, and the creature fell backwards into its eternal rest.

The last three sarcophagi popped open, as Bastrii quickly dealt another fatal arrow to one of the two behind her. The last two shambled forward, and she brought another shot into another undead's chest.

The last one, though, held close to one of the two pillars, avoiding her line of fire. If Midna had popcorn, she would be enjoying this little game of Cat and Mouse with a snack.

Bastrii stood up and hopped off the raised platform, the former Nord raising his left hand up. A wave of chilling frost whipped forward across the Bosmer, ice building on her armor as she let loose a cry.

Midna's mood swung from cheering to worry, as Bastrii fumbled with her weapon. The draugr closed in, the blue light in his eyes unwavering.

The Bosmer's bow slammed forward in a heavy jab, bashing the creature in the skull. His helmet flew off from the concussion. His spell fell short, the Elf withdrawing her dagger and slamming it hard into his exposed skull. A grunt escaped the former Nord's lips, before he plummeted to the ground.

Shaking, the Bosmer peeled a piece of ice from her blue cheeks. Blinking away the ice, she made an effort to restore her vision while popping off chunks of ice from her armor.

"Are you okay?" Midna asked, hovering down in front of her.

"Can't… see too well. And it's cold."

The Bosmer rubbed her eyes, grunting in frustration. The frost had left her eyes chilled and blurry, and her hands weren't helping too much.

"So cold..."

Midna frowned, taking a torch from the nearby wall. With Bastrii distracted, she cast just a hint of flame magic to light it for her, holding it by her Elven Guide's chest.

The Bosmer moaned in pain, resting her fingers by the heat. For a few minutes, all she could do was shake life back into her frozen bow hand, and blink while eyes defrosted.

The blur cleared as she held the warmth to her face, the flame almost tickling her hood. She nodded. "Thank you, Midna."

The Twili smiled in reply, encouraging her. "Ready?"

Bastrii stepped forward, popping her left wrist. She found the way forward barred by the gate, but after a quick examination of the room, she was happy to find an easy exit with a pull of a lever.

"Why so many traps and locks in a crypt?" Midna thought aloud, floating upwards along the next spiral staircase.

"Some of them are built to keep unwanted guests out."

"And the others?"

"To keep the dead in." She said, rattling the door forward. It opened with a heavy thunk, scraping along yet another pressure plate. A dozen darts deeper in shot into an unsuspecting skeleton – the animated corpse falling to pieces from the dense strikes of iron.

"See what I mean? Your initial reaction when you step on a trap, is to jump backwards to avoid it. Unless if you're running forward. If the Skeleton stepped on the panel, he'd probably jump back to the sound of shifting gears… and land right in the midst of it."

"I don't think that's intentional." Midna said, looking at how distant the needles were from the trigger. "Just really poor design. It's like placing a trap that springs at you from around a corner, instead of down a straight hallway."

Bastrii hefted a nearby rock onto yet another blue rune not more than a few steps clear of the first, letting it clunk onto the crafted trigger.

She heard a swing, but nothing came of it but the sound of the gears resetting.

"Hold on, touch the panel again." Midna said, floating towards a nearby shelf. She stood on top of it, accidentally knocking over a blue phial with her small boot.

Bastrii kicked the rock off, stepping on it with her foot. Midna looked down the hallway, before laughing.

"By Din's Fire, I was joking about a poorly thought out corner trap. But this? This takes the cake."

Bastrii waited for the sound of the device to return to neutral, before stepping on it a third time to join Midna. A poorly placed battering ram swung at the open air, peeking the corner. The problem is, that even if she were idly walking – the device would be too slow to hit her. She would have to stop and wait for it to barrel into her chest.

"Whoever designed this needs to be fired." Bastrii pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. "Why not just place it facing the point of entry?"

"That's what I'm thinking! Why time the trap if it's going to miss anyone that walks at a different pace? Or better yet, steps backwards?"

Bastrii continued forward, holding her bow at the ready. Taking to a crouch, she gently pushed open the doors.

The room ahead led into a circular chamber, down a flight of steps concealed by another corner. The creaking of bones and grating voices dug into her ears, the sound of something… _speaking_ pulling her attention.

The duo pushed onwards, ducking behind an aged wooden wall. A draugr below stood in front of a crowd of skeletons, mumbling in some strange, ancient language. Midna held close to the wall, noticing the gleam on the floor.

"Is that oil?" The Imp whispered. The undead hadn't noticed it, but patches of grease were forming from the freshly lit pots above. The leader of the small group held his sword up, chanting something to his followers. The skeletons and other draugr joined, raising their weapons high and giving rattling cheers.

Bastrii took her bow, and aimed for the burning pot above.

"If you miss, it's going to be you versus at least a dozen angry zombies. I hope you know that." Midna whispered, her eyes peeking through the slats of wood. Bastrii was silent, pulling the string taut.

A skeleton from below called out, pointing to the intruders with a clattering roar. The draugr and bones drew their weapons, as the leader looked up to the pots above, then down to his feet.

Midna's eyes lit up in surprise. For some mindless zombie, even they have hindsight.

Bastrii let the arrow loose, ducking around the corner as three ancient arrows whizzed past her skull. The steel tipped shaft slid across the taut rope, the pot plummeting to the floor. It crashed, a massive explosion rocking the barrow as bones were tossed clear of the meeting room, into the sky, and even bounced off the roof.

The Twili watched in satisfaction, the few straggling zombies burning up in the heat. They fell to the ground, their eyes lifeless once more.

"This is turning out to be fun!" Midna laughed, clapping her hands. "Much better than the Dungeons in Hyrule. They were boring puzzle fests with the occasional spider or… I don't know, slug that fell on your face. I mean, they were flaming slugs, but still."

"Dungeons? You have those, too?"

"Yep! You could say that."

"Care to elaborate?" She asked, her eye catching on the dull gleam of something behind a tight hole. Her amber eyes cut into squints, trying to make out the faint glow from within.

"Well uh, there's not much to elaborate on. We trekked through a Forest Temple, deep in Ordon Woods. Besides the giant spiders, the only real threat was this massive, building sized dekubaba. I think I named it 'Diababa'. It was a plant like… tentacle thing, with teeth, in a poison lake. And there were other temples, too."

"Diababa. What a weird name. It couldn't have been too much of a threat, if it was a plant buried in a poison lake." Bastrii turned a corner, finding a standing sarcophagus with a small pulley next to it. She gave it a tug, stepping just out of the way as the lid fell to the floor with a hard thud.

"Ha! You should have seen how much acid it spewed when I thought that. It literally burnt Link's wooden shield to a charred husk. I'm so happy he didn't take that hit, he would have been melted to a pile of goo."

"Well, at least there was only one." Bastrii said, smiling in satisfaction. A large chest sat in front of her, a dimly lit crystal on a shelf showing off an old, Orcish Blade. She ignored the sword, taking up the crystal in her hands.

"Now this is useful." She tucked it into her side satchel, feeling the weight joining her coin purse.

"What about the sword? The measly dagger surely isn't enough to really defend yourself." Midna said, eyeing the gruesome, oddly bent implement. The Elf gave a nod, picking it up.

The heavy weight of the misshapen blade set oddly in her hand, the guard unbalanced and the weight of the blade set mostly towards the base, where the least cutting power resides. The hilt was bent in the wrong direction, and completely round – leaving the sword prone to slipping.

"If I were a heavy set orc, this weapon would be wonderful for bashing people. But as it is, it's just not going to cut it. It's not combat ready for someone like me. I'm too weak to use it properly."

She dropped it to the floor, sighing. "A lot of swords are like that for a Bosmer like me. They're either too thick and unwieldy, or balanced for someone with more height and heft. My best bet would be to hope for a Bosmer weapon of sorts, but those are mostly found in Valenwood. My Father's blade was confiscated by the Imperials at the southern border."

She turned to the chest, tossing open the heavy lid. It gave a might _thunk_ against the stone, the elf digging through the ancient history of the fallen Nords that resided here.

"Lots of journals, books, and personal effects in this one." She said, tossing an old Nordic journal to the side. She pulled a large, steel shield from the depths, resting it against the outside of the trunk. Midna looked it over, smiling.

"Why not use this?" Midna said, kicking the sturdy metal. "It would probably hold up against an arrow or two."

Bastrii shook her head, withdrawing a small coin pouch to add to her own. "Too heavy. I would get tired just carrying it on my arm, and a single solid swing would probably stagger me more so than block an attack. Or it would shatter my wrist. I'm not hardy enough for that."

She finally pulled out a furled scroll, the delicate binding in the center holding a green crest of a snake. She frowned, opening the parchment to find a large, rune vortex in the center.

"What in Y'ffre's name is this?" She said, turning the paper left and right, trying to make words of it. She tapped the small emerald in the center, frowning.

Midna gasped, leaning in close.

"That's a Spell Scroll. I've seen plenty like it where I come from, in our ancient libraries. They hold a single use, powerful, world changing spell."

"And what does this one do in particular?"

"This would be a scroll of mass paralysis – anything around you that you deem your enemy when reading it will be struck by its magic, and they'll crumple to the floor for a while, unable to even twitch." She grabbed it in her Shadow-Hand, wrapping it up tightly before slipping it into her side pouch.

"Can you even use that?"

"Of course I can! Can you?" She laughed, before darting around the corner. "Come on! Let's see what else we can find."

Bastrii sighed. Midna is no Mage, but she's starting to act like one. Trudging onwards, the duo crossed the pile of bones and up the next flight of steps, passing through the round meeting hall without too much of a worry. The way forward was through yet another tunnel, the heavy iron door blocking their path; accompanied by two closed sarcophagi.

"You would think that Nord designers would… ha! Make lighter… doors." Bastrii said, shoving hard against the ancient, rusted entryway. It gave an inch at a time, a solid clunk resonating through the stone halls. The Dragonborn stopped her effort, looking behind her as the two rocky lids fell off of the coffins.

Immediately, Bastrii crouched and tucked away against the shadows, Midna quietly floating out of sight. She watched from above as two more draugr shambled to life, their weapons drawn and ready.

They looked forward, crossing the banister without a thought to look behind. Angry shouts met Bastrii's ears, when they saw their fallen comrades scattered to the floor below.

The Bosmer took her bow, and aimed for the closest one. The soft twang of her string echoed through the barrow walls as the tip of the arrow embedded in the corpse's skull, sending him toppling over the edge.

The second turned, fuming as it raised its shield. Bastrii stood up and charged forward, kicking it in the circle of iron and wood as it stumbled off and over the edge. With a thunk, it fell to the floor below. In its daze, Bastrii knocked another arrow and shot the downed draugr with a sigh.

"I hate shields." She said to Midna, her eyes locked to the dead below. "They're annoying to deal with. Then again, if they didn't weigh a million pounds, I'd use one, too."

"Maybe you should work on that, huh? Work out a little. Link carries a shield, and he uses it like a weapon, too."

Bastrii rolled her eyes. "Stop comparing me to Link. I don't even know who he is." She slipped the bow around her quiver, letting it rest there.

"Not my fault you look a bit like him, act like him, and fight like him, too!"

"Doubtful." Bastrii said, returning to the heavy door. She pushed against it hard, grunting in exertion as it finally gave way. Above, the sound of swinging blades greeted her ears.

"Oh no." She whispered, reaching the top of the cobble path. Three blades swung in the corridor, powered by some unknown contraption.

"I hate these things. One wrong move and you'll be cut to bits, and they always seems to nick you when you think you're clear."

"You know, traps like this normally wouldn't worry me, but since I can't just use magic to get across, I'm starting to see why you hate them." Midna said, wide eyed. "Even the poles holding the ax blades below are sharp. That's commitment."

Bastrii nodded. "I guess that means I'm going first, huh?" She said.

"Yep."

"Yeah, I thought so." Bastrii sighed, the blades an inch from her vulnerable body. She watched the swing, before darting forward in a dead sprint – just barely avoiding the followup. Heart hammering in her chest, she gave a relieved sigh when she found herself still in one piece.

Turning to face Midna, she hovered unsteadily before the blades. That's when Bastrii noticed a pull-lever on her right side. Giving it a tug, the blades suddenly stopped.

Eager to be free from their resting spot, Midna dashed through the tight corridor.

"Okay, I hate this place now. So deadly!" She said, glad to be past the blades. "Everything wants to kill us."

"That's about the majority of Skyrim. Everything wants you dead." She took a step forward, triggering another trap carelessly. She threw herself backwards, just in time too – a massive wall of spikes flew around the corner, the mechanism preventing it from overstepping its bounds shattering; it cleared the trigger and kept going. A spike gashed hard into Bastrii's arm, pulling her with the broken metal as it swung towards the wall.

She screamed out as her left arm was pinned to the stone, the hinges creaking on the spiky mechanism as they fell apart. The base of the trap-wall dropped to the floor, clattering as it shook Bastrii's mangled limb – before falling backwards. Much too quickly, the offending point withdrew from the Elf's flesh, a spurt of blood coming with it. Bastrii fell to her knees, and then her side, hugging her nearly destroyed arm in agony.

Midna could only watch in wide eyed terror as her Guide tumbled to the floor. A gush of blood broke her from the shock, joining the Bosmer by her side.

"What do you need?" She said, without waiting for her request. "Let me see."

Bastrii ground her teeth, tears welling in her eyes as Midna took her mangled limb. The Imp turned it over, wincing as she looked along her forearm. A massive, bloody hole went right through the center – possibly destroying the precious workings within. It dripped blood endlessly, Bastrii clawing at her side satchel.

Midna moved the Bosmer's good arm away from the bag, opening it up. She pulled out a roll of bandages, the last set too. By now, she was definitely used to this procedure. Binding the limb as tightly as Bastrii's pained moans would allow, she wrapped her hands around the bandage. Squeezing, keeping the pressure to prevent any more blood loss.

Bastrii nearly fell limp, gasping out in pain from the gruesome wound. Midna could only watch as she suffered, the stirring from behind drawing the attention of her downed guide.

"Behind!" She gasped, struggling to get to her feet. Midna turned as the corpses began to rise from their resting spots – the slots in the walls themselves. Two of them slowly made it to their feet, the blue lights in their eyes bringing them to life.

Midna raised her hands in defiance, whispering the word. "_Ignis."_

Both of her hands clutched at the burning balls flame, her eyes narrowing as the first one approached. He carried an ancient sword and a banded iron shield, his guard at the ready. She brought her palms together, channeling the burning magic through her body. "_Aereo."_

The flames spewed forward in a powerful torrent, engulfing the shield as the Draugr held his guard. He stumbled back at first, the iron holding. He quickly caught himself and began to advance again – even as his buckler caught on fire.

He took the ground, inch by inch. The Imp cursed to herself, her veins slowly burning with the heat of the magic coursing through her. She tried tilting the flame down, but only spare tendrils of flame caught at the corpse below it before the shield protected him once again.

She was losing precious time, and panic began to set in when he stood no more than a few feet from her. The second draugr grew close behind, carrying only a sword – his other hand enraptured in a chilling aura of frost.

The shielded draugr didn't notice Bastrii's body, as she reached for her dagger beneath him and plunged it into his knee. The molten shield faltered and fell, as the beast grunted and staggered. Flames danced across his face, billowing in heated waves. Midna gasped, ending the spell as her own body threatened mutiny. He dropped his tools and fell, dead on the spot.

The second draugr saw the movement below, and drew his sword high – ready to end the Bosmer for good.

"_Fus!_" Bastrii called her Thu'um, disarming his blade and nearly forcing him to tumble to his back. The Elf took the other draugr's sword in her good hand, and swung at his legs – hard.

The old metal hit home, slicing clean through the tendon at the base of the kneecap. The staggered undead immediately toppled over, slamming its head on the floor below. Its eyes went dark, a sickening crack filling the air from the impact.

Midna heaved to the side, her body aching all over. Channeling a spell not just once, but twice over was doubly demanding on her body. Her Twili face pale, Bastrii slowly made it to her feet.

She clutched at her arm, blood soaking through her bandage. Pain coursed through her like fire, her breathing ragged from the panic. After several minutes of panting, the duo looked to each other.

"We have to keep going." Bastrii said.

"You're crazy." Midna replied.

"I agree. We're halfway there, and my arm is bleeding like crazy – but it's my left arm. I can keep going."

"But that's your sword arm!"

Bastrii blinked. "I'm not left handed. It's my bow arm, not my string. I can still shoot just fine." She picked her bow up with a struggle, grunting. But she held onto it, none-the-less.

Midna kicked at herself inwardly. Of course she isn't left handed. Link is left handed. Bastrii uses her right, like nearly everyone else.

"When did you learn magic?" Bastrii asked, slowly pressing onward. She didn't look well, her body wrapped in a cold sweat. But she hid the pain decently enough.

The Imp coughed, her body drained from the use. "Last night, when Wilhelm asked me to explore the barrow. He gave me a book with a few beginner spells, and he let on about a place called 'Winterhold'."

"I see." Bastrii said, keeping low along the corridor. Ahead, a set of steps lewd up to a gap between paths, more burial chambers to her right. A steady stream washed through the tomb, reflecting the dim light from beyond the wall.

It was black as pitch in here, and even her Elven eyes could barely peer through the darkness. Bastrii followed the stairway up in the dark, a small torch on the landing above. She peeked around cautiously, an arrow at the ready. Midna floated across the gap, a heavy bridge sitting straight up. She felt it with her hand, peering at the closed, wrought iron gate before her.

Bastrii quietly made her way towards a wooden door in the darkness, gently sliding it open. It creaked loudly, an ancient draugr turning to face her. She let her arrow loose, the steel head embedding in its chest as it crumpled.

"I think that's everything around here." Bastrii said, looking around. "Midna?"

"I'm over here!" She whispered, floating towards her Guide. "The way forward is across the gap, but there's a gate and a bridge that need to be activated first. This feels like a puzzle from Hyrule." She looked at the dead draugr, frowning.

"These things are everywhere, aren't they?"

"Well, we are in a tomb." Bastrii stood up, stepping over to a nearby torch. She withdrew a flint from her pouch, striking the blunt of her dagger against the stone until the dry wood caught aflame. The fire sparkled in the darkness, illuminating the chamber in its golden light. Immediately, she pocketed another soul gem from a table to her left.

"This isn't a trap, is it?" Midna said, landing in front of an iron panel on the floor. To her, it looked a little bit like a bear trap.

"No, it's too obvious. Let's look around before we activate it, though. I don't want anymore holes in me." Bastrii peaked her head from outside the door, sighing when she found four black pillars outside of the room. They were familiar, each baring the face of a snake, whale, and eagle.

"Oh, it's one of these. Great."

"What's one of what?" The Imp said, joining her. She saw the panels on the blackened pillars, looking them over. "Is this part of the puzzle?"

"Yep. Look around for clues. I'm going to step on the panel and see if it will kill me." She spat bitterly, returning to the chamber. By now, she was absolutely sick of this place. She placed her foot on the iron, and four wheels began to shift all around her. The walls shifted and turned, revealing pieces to the puzzle one by one.

"Whale, bird, snake, whale. Easy enough." She sighed, relieved. Last time she dealt with one of these puzzles, a vital piece was missing and she had to guess. She remembers the sting of the poison darts all too well, and she felt absolutely stupid for not noticing that the final clue had just… fallen to the left. It was right in front of her the whole time, too.

Turning the pillars, she made easy work of the blockade. The bridge clattered as it fell, the Iron Gate lifting to the ceiling above. Bastrii quietly made her way across, her ears picking up the sound of the wet squelch of walking draugr.

"There's another one, straight ahead. See the eyes?" Bastrii said, pointing. The Imp stared onwards, nodding.

The undead grunted, eager to explore outside of its tomb. Bastrii prepared to shoot it with an arrow, but its decrepit foot snapped a delicate string below. A cascade of boulders fell from above, slamming into the former Nord's head as the light in its sockets went dim.

Midna giggled.

"Idiot." She said, the tension evaporating in moments. Bastrii took one step forward, jumping backwards as her foot had landed on yet another pressure plate. A second spike wall slammed into the stone where she had just been, the deadly machine resetting slowly.

"By the Nine, that almost gave me a heart attack!" Bastrii said, falling onto the floor with an exasperated gasp. "I hate those! They're the worst out of all of the traps. They're probably the most deadly thing in here."

"Maybe you should step more lightly from now on, huh? I don't think you have a bandage big enough for several holes in your chest." Midna warned with a smile, less phased by it than the Elf. "We can't be too far now – I can almost smell the treasure!"

Bastrii slowly made it to her feet, breathing in deeply at the aged air around her. "Let's finish this and get out of here."

Using her good arm, she made it to her feet. Avoiding the dozen boulders beneath her, the effort was made to stay quiet. Running water ahead alerted her ears, the Bosmer stepping into the next chamber with a gasp.

A few vents from above allowed just the barest hint of natural light to filter into the ancient tomb, the morning dawn reflecting on the waters below as it filled the room with a dim, airy light. Around them sat dozens of closed coffins, a chest directly in front of her that stood proudly in the center. A spare steel mace lay by its side, an old hide shield rotting on top. Farther along the tomb, rows of sarcophagi led up a staircase, one final resting place highlighted in the center of the room. Two separate water falls lined the void around them, filling through the rest of the barrow to possibly join the Darkwater River outside. A massive pool lay beneath them, helping the light bounce around the stony prison.

"I have a terrible feeling that we're being watched." Midna whispered, sticking close to Bastrii's side. "Like the tombs themselves have eyes."

"They're waiting for us to open the chest." Bastrii said, stepping forward. In the far distance, a curved wall caught her eye.

"Is that…?" She whispered to herself, heart fluttering in her chest. She knew that walking too far was a death trap. Her best bet would be to open the chest and spring into action.

"I need you to open it." Bastrii said, holding her bow at the ready. She knocked an arrow, taking several more into her right hand as her quiver rattled behind her. She winced at how empty it felt.

"Didn't you _just_ say that it's a trap?"

"Yes. But I need to reach that wall on the far side of the chamber."

"How about we just leave, get you patched up, and convince a few guards to help us?"

"Help us loot their ancestor's graves?" She said, drawing her string back. "Think of it like target practice."

Midna honestly didn't know if she was talking to her to ease her worries, or herself for confidence. And to be entirely honest, she didn't really care. "If you die, I'm taking Braehoof up the mountain myself."

"Fair enough." She said, as Midna's Shadow-Arm reached for the lid. With a heavy flick, it flew open – a flurry of papers spiraling up into the sky. And just like that, it began.

The first coffin opened to her far left, a skeletal hand sliding out with a bow locked in its grasp. Bastrii took in a breath, focusing on the point of its skull as it stepped free of the coffin. The arrow went flying, embedding into the dead as its bones scattered across the floor.

Another sarcophagus in the distance creaked with life, the stone top shattering on the ground as a draugr slowly crawled out. It was very far for a target – she aimed, and let the arrow loose. She cursed as it missed, clattering to the ground. Her followup was much faster, piercing the undead through the chest.

But for every Nord put back to rest, two more joined. They all slowly began to close the gap, as Bastrii stepped backwards.

Midna, on the other hand, had pulled out a new scroll from the chest.

"Bastrii!" Midna flew to her side, unfurling the scroll. "Hold them off while I use this!"

"What the hell is it?!"

"A Guardian Circle! Give me time!" She touched her finger to the center of the vortex, her eyes lighting on the small diamond in the center. It glowed brightly, as she began to cant the words to the air in a strange, foreign language. One Bastrii had never heard uttered before.

She quickly turned back to the Undead, the draugr almost scraping past the chest with their ancient blades. She downed the closest offender with an arrow, stepping in front of Midna with a shout.

"_Fus!_" Echoed through the corridor, knocking back the invading hordes if only for a moment. She flipped her gaze back to Midna, the scroll slowly burning at the center as the gem levitated between her hands.

The distraction was more than enough time for an arrow to burrow into the Elf's chest, the metal links of her armor scraping against the wood as she looked down in stunned horror.

The flight of the arrow was resting near the dead center, just an inch off from her heart. Her breath left her in a gasp, her hunting bow clattering to the floor. She stumbled, before collapsing painfully onto her back.

Midna's eyes glowed white as she threw her hands up, and slammed the gem into the ground. The magic spiraling out and around her in a brilliant, radiating light of warmth and shelter. The undead who stepped inside the ring screeched in agony, turning to flee from the blinding, burning light.

Midna looked around for her companion, her focus pulled away from the intense magic.

"Bastrii?" She said, spinning around. An arrow narrowly missed her, bouncing off the wall and clattering to the floor. She dropped down low, her eyes growing wide in panic.

Bastrii lay on the floor, a pool of blood around her mouth. She was clutching the arrow tightly, tears running down her cheeks as she looked up to the Imp in horror.

Midna was speechless. Her eyes darted between the fading light of her friend's gaze, and the arrow in her chest. The gushes of blood escaping her mouth showing that the wound was clearly fatal.

"Let me die." She coughed, her eyes glazing over. "Pull the arrow. End my suffering. It hurts..."

Midna's own eyes began to run wet, hesitating as her hands reached for the shaft. Bastrii's hand fell limp to her side, her sight never leaving Midna's.

"Promise me you'll make it home?" She said, her voice far beyond a whisper.

Midna didn't want to respond. She couldn't think of a response to that. How could she promise she'd make it home without her help? Without her?

"I promise." She said, guilty. Bastrii gave a soft nod, closing her eyes as the Imp's third hand reached for the flight. She pulled – as hard as she could through the tears, as the arrow withdrew from her chest.

And with it, came the last, soft breath of the Bosmer. Y'ffre's embrace open and inviting.

* * *

Hey everyone! This last bit was a bit more rushed than I'd like to admit - it's 5:32ish AM and I really wanted to finish this chapter before bed. If you see a lot of poor writing, I was kinda grinding through the last bit of this, trying to repaint the dungeon as best as I could with what loot I had found at level 12 or so. Please be sure to point out any errors you see, and leave a review! They're what keeps me going.


	7. Chapter 7

Midna could only watch as her Guide – no, her _friend_ died in her grasp, floating up in the protection of the circle. She looked around to the undead crowding around her, another arrow whizzing by her chest.

Her vision snapped towards the offender, tears welling in her eyes as she drew the power of flame to her hands yet again. She didn't care that it hurt. She didn't care that her body protested; her hands came together, and the skeleton began to shamble out of the way.

"_No._" Midna ordered, sending the bolt flying through the air. It collided into the creature's back, the intense heat shattering its spinal column. The bones scattered to the floor, as Midna picked up the mace against the chest in her Shadow-Hand.

The draugr took a step backwards, her deathly glare piercing even the undead. She swung the weapon with all of her might, her neck nearly snapping from the pressure as the orange tendril brought the cold steel across fragile jaws. The bones fell to pieces and two draugr fell dead – the lash snapping their skulls sharply to the left.

The group retreated steadily, as Midna followed them with the flames pouring from her hands. The mace crashing down into a draugr's shield, breaking his arm as she trained her fire on him.

She shirked backwards as her Guardian Circle began to diminish. Her little safe zone dwindling as the draugr grew more bold. Only six remained, and Midna was intent on bashing them to bits.

Her fragile hands faltered, the flames seemingly at an end. Her body fighting against her will as she let the magic go.

"If I can't burn you, I will break every bone in your body!" She screamed, her magical limb running in another wide arc. It collided into the shoulder of another draugr, the aged creature crumbling as he fell sharply onto his bearded chin. His weapons clattered to the floor. Midna made another swing, but the undead were smarter than they let on – a magic wielding draugr swung his sword arm down, lopping her hair tendril from her head. The mace continued along its path, cracking the offending Nord's skull as it fell limp.

Midna fluttered back, panting. She threw her eyes around the room, her vision catching on the fallen blade of a draugr before her. With the Guardian circle less than several feet wide, she hefted it in both hands.

"Back! Stay back!" She protested. Her Twili magic became too much effort, her body unable to keep up. She stooped down to the stone, her chest heaving for air. Sweat coating the inside of her leather armor.

This was it. It was her standing between the draugr and her dead companion, the shrinking circle less threatening to the undead as they waited for the last of the magic to fade. One blocked the doorway, preventing her from fleeing.

She failed her people. She failed the Twilight Realm. She would perish in a distant land, not as a valiant battle cry, but as a dying whimper that went silently into her grave.

Midna collapsed to her knees, the heavy blade falling to the floor. Crying freely at her impending doom.

And that's when she heard it. The familiar twang of an arrow, an unsteady grunt behind her forcing her to turn.

Bastrii was standing. Her wound had mostly closed, and she was holding her bow at the ready. A draugr fell to his knees, as she drew another arrow, and fired again. A second draugr fell dead, the ever shrinking circle losing its luster.

Two draugr remained in front, the third drawing in from the door with a gritty call. Bastrii fired again, and again, and again – showering the undead with her endless onslaught as the final blow was struck, the circle vanishing with the door's guard falling flat on his fresh wound.

Bastrii reached for an arrow, but her quiver had ran dry. The distant sarcophagus cracked; as if refusing to open for the undead beneath. She dropped her bow to the floor, picking up the unwieldy ancient Nordic blade at her feet. She walked forward with a cause, the tomb shattering to bits as a hulking, rotten carcass of an improperly buried draugr stepped free.

Midna simply looked on in absolute astonishment, as Bastrii approached it without hesitation. It grunted in the language of the dead, taking a massive greatsword into its hands.

It called out to her, breathing in a rancid breath before its loud voice echoed across the chamber.

"_Fus_…_ Ro Dah!" _It shouted, a wave of power washing over the Bosmer. A literal wall of force erupted from the Lord of the Tomb, sliding the rock-steady Elf backwards by several feet, raising her left arm up to shield her eyes in defiance. Tomb dirt billowed across her, knocking Midna down from just behind the chest.

Bastrii swung the sword by her side. She had done this before.

She was ready.

The Draugr leapt from the raised platform above, bringing the massive blade down in an arc to cleave the Elf in two. Bastrii nimbly dodged, swinging at the old Nord's head. But he was too fast for her, and spun with the blade – guiding the steel to his side. The Elf took her turn to charge, grabbing her sword in both hands as she made an angry diagonal cut for the Undead's torso, but the Greatsword met it at the hilt, the stronger undead swinging with the blunt of the blade like he's batting a fly.

Bastrii stumbled backward, ducking as the undead carried the blade into a swing for her throat. Faster than she thought possible, he carried the momentum into another swing. She rolled out of the way just in time, skirting the edge of an empty coffin. The distance was just enough time for her to right herself, standing on the cliff over the chilly water a dozen feet below.

The draugr wasted no time, making the distance in an instant as his powerful sword came singing downwards. It cut the wind as her own ancient sword rose up, clattering against the steel in a bone shaking parry. The lighter sword split down the middle as the Elf ducked to the right side, taking her dagger and embedding it deep into the calf of the hulking former Nord.

She tackled him from his left, ducking under the sword as it just barely grazed her hood. The draugr slammed against the ground, the sword falling into the water below. It swung its fist out into a jab, knocking Bastrii off of him.

She grunted and fumbled on the ground, standing up faster than he could. He stood with his back to the water below, reaching for the dagger in his leg.

The Bosmer breathed in. "_Fus!_"

The wave of force rocked the undead off of its unsteady feet. He stumbled backwards, his glowing blue eyes glaring back at her in shock as he fell to the rocks below. His head smashed into a stone, eyes going dark as he slid beneath the water.

Bastrii collapsed to her knees, panting as Midna joined her.

"You're… alive." Midna said, her smaller hand resting on the Bosmer's back. Looking over her pale face in shock.

"Midna, do you know what category Guardian Circle falls under in the schools of Magic?" She said quietly, undoing the bandage on her arm. The soaked fabric fell to the floor, a thin, flesh covered scar resting there.

Midna was silent, waiting for Bastrii to go one.

"Guardian Circle is a Restoration Spell."

"You knew this? And you made me think you were going to die?"

Bastrii spit out blood; her cheek bleeding from the inside. "No. I felt like I _knew_ I was going to die. My wounds were too great, I was convinced the magic wouldn't work. And if it did, it wouldn't work with an arrow in my chest." She said, pulling the empty sheath from her belt. She leaned over the edge, dropping it into the water below. Letting her iron dagger be lost to the waters.

Midna was quiet, her eyes looking over her friend's pale cheeks. She didn't _seem_ healed, not entirely. Blood still occasionally dripped from her wound, the Bosmer clutching at her chest in pain. She simply rested on her knees, breathing slow and steady breaths.

"Are you okay?" Midna eventually asked. There was no use being angry at her, especially because she survived the ordeal. Even if it was overly dramatic.

The Elf fought the urge to say "yes", but her body ached and protested the very idea of it.

"No. I feel sick. I feel light headed, like I've fallen down and bashed my head instead of that Undead. I feel like puking that poor quality supper that Nord slid under my door. My jaw hurts, I'm freezing cold, and I want to go home. I want to see my parents again, but I know that's never going to happen. Most of all, I just want this horrible journey to end." She said, her eyes distant. "My dreams were fine until it all started. And now? The nightmares wont stop. I keep seeing the bandits I've killed. I toss and turn at night, and I don't sleep – I can only pretend. If I don't die on Nirn, I'll die in my own head again and again until I pass on into the afterlife.

"I'm not a fighter. I barely know how to swing a sword, yet I'm expected to hold one. My bow is for hunting, yet I hear demands to fire upon my enemies. My spells are for healing, yet I only ever heal wounds from battle. I just want it to stop. I want the source of it all to stop. I want the Imperials and Thalmor to pay. They're the reason the dragons have returned. They're the reason why I'm doing this – not for Skyrim, but for my father. The man who taught me everything I knew about survival, about shooting a bow. I'm doing this for my mother, who taught me how to stitch, how to handle a blade with some slight finnese, and of the world I know.

"I'm not doing this for me. I never have been. I'm doing this for the faint hope that if I make it, at the very end, everything will return to normal and I can go home. I just want to go home, but that's gone, too. Gone to the Thalmor." She sobbed. "So what home do I have left?"

By now, the tears were falling freely. Midna could only sit there and try and comfort her, unable to really find the words to calm her nerves.

Link had been through a similar period, where all he wanted to do was give up. But he never did. He never even broke down like this, but he wanted to. But Bastrii _wasn't_ Link. Bastrii _was_ breaking down. And Bastrii needed her. Bastrii needed more support than Link.

So she would have to give it.

"Bastrii?" She said, standing in front of her. "It's going to be okay."

She didn't turn her gaze from the palms of her hands, but her long ears flicked at her words. The shuddering cries coming to a brief pause.

"_We_ are going to make it. Together. I'm not going to just let you run off all alone, and leave this world to ruin if you can't make it. I'm going to stay by your side, like you have for mine. Even after everything I've done to make this trip miserable for you. I wont leave until the Dragons are put to rest, alright?"

Bastrii sniffled, looking up at the floating Imp before her. She slowly wiped her face clear, nodding.

"Thank you Midna. For everything you've done."

Midna smiled, nodding. "And thank you for pushing through my… less than helpful attitude." She said, kicking herself for being so selfish in the past.

But it was just that; the past. It was behind her now.

"Let's grab what we can and get out of here. If there's any luck, someone who can _actually_ cook has kicked that blond haired bimbo out of the Inn's kitchen." Midna giggled, floating up into the air.

Bastrii nodded, forcing a smile. "Now you're pushing fate farther than I have."

The duo quickly made their way back to the chest, Bastrii retrieving her bow. The Imp peered inside, shuffling the remaining books and papers with her bare hands.

"How'd you find that scroll so quickly?" Bastrii asked, joining her.

"When we opened the chest, I saw it flutter out with the other parchments. You'd spot a spell scroll from a mile away, if you've handled them before."

Amid the junk, Bastrii hefted a rough edged stone. It looked to be chipped from rock, and buffed partially to appear smooth. Yet it still had the obvious signs of being hewn from dense stone. She held it up, inspecting it – the heavy weight filling her palm as she wondered what it could be.

It began to glow at the core, a heavenly light emitting from the center.

A voice rang from the core, bright and clear as it filled the cavernous tomb.

"**A new hand touches the beacon. Listen. Hear me and obey.**" It began. Midna's eyes looked towards the rock.

"In Din's name, can that get any louder?" She cursed, holding her poor ears. The _beacon_ continued, Bastrii's eyes locked to the stone in wonder.

"**A foul darkness has seeped into my temple. A darkness you will destroy. Return my Beacon to Mount Kilkreath! And I will make you an instrument of my cleansing light.**"

And just as it began, the rough hewn stone went dormant. Midna sighed, letting her small hands fall from her ears. "What was that about?"

"I honestly have no idea. Something wants me to go to mount Kilkreath. The problem is, I don't really know where that is, except that it's near Solitude on the opposite end of Skyrim."

"Why should we listen to a stupid rock?" Midna said, crossing her legs in the air. "Sounds like a waste of time. We have more important things to do, like scaling a mountain. Or finding you a healer."

"Well, it's not too often you find a talking rock, in a chest, in a barrow, that tells you travel across all of Skyrim to clear out a Temple. Not a grave site, an actual temple of worship. I don't know what that entails, but it could mean that a literal God is trying to ask a favor."

"Oh? A God, you say?" She hovered closer, interested. "Go on?"

Bastrii scratched her head. "I'm not very religious, at least beyond my belief in Y'ffre. So it could be that one of the Nine Divines are calling me. Or it could be a Daedric artifact… I don't know. It's worth looking into, at the very least. When we get the chance."

Midna nodded, not entirely satisfied with her answer. If these Divines were anything like the Goddesses of Hyrule, there would definitely be power to be found there. And having a God on your side is _so much better_ than having nothing.

"Let's get moving. We're still in a bit of a hurry, remember? You're getting blood everywhere."

Midna pointed to the Bosmer's chest. She nodded, a tiny trail of blood leaking across her green scarf. While the magic was powerful, a wound of that caliber would still leave a mark. In this case, the mark was spurting across her front.

"Right." Bastrii gave the chest one more look over, finding a few more gems, and a small, sheathed dagger. It was a slight gold and brass, and rested deep among the papers. She held it aloft, an Eagle's Head on the pommel. It was golden, with feathers along the back of the blade. She turned it over, confused – noting the design.

"I haven't seen one of these in so long. This is a Dagger of Mer – or Elves. Back when the Dominion was held between the High Elves, Wood Elves, and Khajiit, this was the type of design all nobles wore of the higher houses of Mer. I don't know how it made here, to this Barrow, of all places..."

Midna yawned. "Probably some war trophy, or maybe one of these zombies dated an Elf. Who knows?" She said, drawing out a small coin purse from the chest into her hands. She counted out the coins, slipping it under her sash just in case. "Add sixteen to your suptums or whatever they're called."

"Septims."

"Whatever. Didn't you want to look at that wall, anyway?" She pointed onwards, and Bastrii gave a nod. She sheathed the blade, tucking it in to her side as she approached the engraving. The runes glowed, translating to words before her very eyes.

She peered at the wall, speaking the monument aloud for Midna to understand.

"_Here lies body of Hela, friend to all beasts, servant of Kyne. May she find eternal rest in the Forest of Dreams."_

"Kyne…" Bastrii whispered to herself. Her vision went dark, as the word replayed in her head. Again and again, it rang. She thought of the forests of Valenwood, and the mighty panthers that stalked the rural reaches of the Green. The word seemed so soothing, but it felt distant when she said it.

"Kyne." She said again, nodding. "It's a shout. Kyne. It must be Ancient Dragon for Y'ffre. Hela was a servant of Y'ffre – a Bosmer, and this must be her dagger." Bastrii said, her thumb tracing the blade. "At least, this is what I'm gathering here."

"So what you're saying…" Midna said, floating above her head with a grin. "Is that you have no proof to back that claim up."

Bastrii rolled her eyes. "I thought you were going to change and be a nicer person?"

"Oh, yeah, totally. I'm definitely going to be nicer, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to be sarcastic." She giggled, hovering up along the path towards the exit. "C'mon! If I know anything about dungeons, is that the very end of all of them usually loops back around to the entrance. Let's get out of here!"

The Bosmer nodded, chuckling to herself. "I guess I can never win, huh?" She said, racing along the path to meet Midna. To her immediate right, an archway rested – closed by a grate. Hidden amongst the crags and just barely out of sight, sat a small chain. She gave it a tug, gears whirring as the pathway opened before them. Following along the old stone, they found another chain – and with another pull, part of the rock face lowered into a chamber below, exposing the path forward.

"Two doors?" Midna said, raising a brow. "Wouldn't one suffice?"

"I'm not Nordic enough to know. Maybe my Mom would have, years ago."

The new section of the cavern contained a few urns. Midna peaked inside of one, the cremated ashes containing a few golden coins. She pocketed them herself, adding four more to her own wallet.

One more chain did the trick, a large stone wall slipping down with the clank of gears. Bastrii stepped into the room, cringing at the sight before her.

A dead Dunmer lay in a pool of his own blood, discarded phials and potions laying across the floor. The room smelled musty and old, and there were scorch marks everywhere.

"What happened here?" Bastrii wondered aloud, gently nudging the body. It was stiff with rigor mortise, the blood stained leather armor clinging to his body.

Midna remained silent as Bastrii examined the corpse, tugging at the dagger in his head. "Wow. It's really embedded in there."

"Can we just… leave it, Bastrii? Please? This is going to make me sick." Midna said, avoiding her gaze.

"Alright, alright. We'll get going. Let's see if there's any traders in the Tavern."

She followed the path out, happy to find that the shoddy traps in here didn't reset like the older ones did. She climbed the old, round staircase, throwing open the wooden doors at the top. The mid day sun filtered in through the open windows, the Bosmer caught in the atmosphere.

"Oh Gods, fresh air." She said, falling to her knees with a blissful gasp. "I missed it so much."

Midna considered joining her, but her mind always turned towards the mountain and their quest. Minutes like this could be spent gathering supplies. "Breath at the Inn, Dragonbird. Or do I have to hold your hand and walk you there?"

"Oh no, by all means, hold my hand and guide me. It would be a refreshing change of pace." She chuckled, slowly standing to her feet. She winced and clenched at her chest, the wound opening just a bit from the movement. Midna noticed the reaction, and sighed.

"Not if it's all bloody. Come on, let's get you washed up first. We can find traders at the Inn, or barter with the locals. I just want out of this town by now."

Bastrii nodded, following the simple path back into town. She opened the door to Vilemyr, the familiar warmth of a hearth easing her worries. By now, a few more Nords had joined the company gathered, two Khajiit sitting idly in the corner. The talked quietly among themselves, one wearing plate armor and the other wearing a sturdy set of clothes.

"Hold on, I know about those Khajiit. They're part of one of the traveling Caravans. We should talk with them."

"We should talk with a Priest if we keep going, because you'll be joining those zombies. Have you actually looked at yourself lately?" Midna pointed at the Elf's green scarf, and her gambeson. Her front half was caked in blood, and her cheeks had lost their rosy color. Bastrii looked at her hands, seeing just how absolutely smothered in her blood they were.

And now that she looked at herself, she could see the many eyes of others taking note, too. Lynly approached her, her eyes knitting in worry.

"Are you alright?" She asked. Bastrii looked to the barmaid, her body slowly catching up to the moment as the last bits of adrenaline wore off.

"...No." She said, shaking her head. Now that she actually thought of herself, she could feel the aching pain clawing in her chest. Her head swimming. She felt like sand was clinging to her throat, her hands and feet cold even in this mild weather. Her digits were numb, and she found her movements sluggish, the weight of the situation hitting home.

"I think I'm dying." Bastrii said, realizing just how weak she truly felt.

Lynly stepped back, shock etching into her face. Midna simply rolled her eyes.

"Dying to be strangled. Come on, Dramaborn. Let's get you out of your own blood. I'll talk to the nice cat people, and you can take a nap."

"Nap?" Bastrii said, her mind feeling dull. "Nap sounds good."

But Bastrii didn't move. She simply swayed in place. Midna's eyes nearly rolled out of her head as she finally did it – she took Bastrii's hand, and tugged her unsteadily towards their room.

"Hey! Don't get blood on my good sheets!" Wilhelm shouted after her.

"Shut it before I use them as bandages!" Midna replied, leading Bastrii to the bed. She didn't bother closing the door, as she didn't have any first aid supplies on hand. She'd have to hope that those Khajiit specifically traded in life-saving medicinal items, or at least some clean rags.

Bastrii began to strip herself. Well, she really let Midna take her gear off, her arms flapping awkwardly to try and strip the damaged armor from her body. Eventually, Midna cursed and gave up being gentle – she ripped the chain mail from her torso, dropping it on the stone floor. The Elf flopped onto the bed with a grunt, her wounds lay bare before her.

"Din's Fire, I'm happy that arrow didn't break off in you, but… still." She said. The wound in front of her was beyond grotesque, though the deepest damage seemed to be healed. To Midna, the arrow wound looked like a piece of her chest exploded into gore. It leaked crimson blood slowly, jagged and rough edged. The muscles beneath the breast showing, having partially healed by the magic of the Guardian Circle.

"Just stay right here, okay? I'm going to find you some help."

Bastrii mumbled something about water, before her eyes slid shut. Her breathing shallow.

Midna closed the door behind her, as she turned to the Khajiit's table. Another two had joined them from outside, the four talking amongst themselves quietly Two bore armor, one wore a hood, and the other looked like an older cat… lady. The Imp approached the female of their group, hoping to get a little sway.

"Hello you four." She said, eyeing the warriors among them carefully. She felt a bit anxious talking to others than those she considered her friend, and it was clear that she was uncomfortable. "I'm looking to purchase some bandages. I don't suppose you have any? Bastrii said you were traders, after all."

"Ah, this one speaks like a creature of Nirn!" The female said, cheering up a bit. Midna noted her gray fur, silver eyes shining in the dim light of the torches. "One thought she heard the utterings of the common tongue. I am Ahkari. And this one is?"

Midna furrowed her brow at her strange accent, the hissing, whisper like voice sounding smooth and fluent to her wary ears. "I am Midna. It's… nice to meet you." She said.

"Bandages? For the Mer? Well, it can be done." Said the cloaked Khajiit to Midna's left. She dropped her hood, nodding to the Twili. Her brown fur illuminated her blue eyes well. "I am Zaynabi. It is a pleasure to meet this one. Khajiit has wares, if you have coin, small Daedra."

Midna withdrew a small pouch at her side, bouncing it in her hand. "I just need some bandages, and maybe a sewing kit if you have one. I can do the rest from there."

The two Khajiit women looked at each other, before the one called Ahkari nodded to one of the steel clad Beast Men. The one in question looked over the Imp for a moment more, his piercing gray eyes digging into her before heading outside. Midna could have sworn he was related to Ahkari, but she had no proof to back it up. It was just his fur color looked like hers… maybe it was common.

Midna wondered where he went, until he returned with a pack in hand. Zaynabi caught the heavy bag, slipping her hand inside for a small satchel.

"We have many trinkets, but less than many cures. But I can offer this." She said, pulling a small bag from the backpack. It was perhaps several inches long, made of leather with a small strap to keep it secured to the owner.

"And that is?"

"Medic's pouch for weary fighters, filled with bandages and needles for aid." She opened the lid of the back, revealing the white gauze to the light. There were a few needles on the side, already threaded with a length of string, and a small bottle in the corner.

"How much?"

"Thirty septims."

Midna held her pouch up, counting her coins out. Twenty.

"Fifteen."

"Thirty."

"Twenty?"

"Thirty."

"I only have twenty."

"My patience doesn't extend beyond thirty. No bag." She gently lowered it into her travel bag, closing the flap behind it.

Midna glared at the Khajiit.

"Then maybe I could offer you something." She said, slipping her hand under her shirt. She took off the golden necklace, the ruby twinkling in the center. She turned it over in her hands, before holding it before her.

The Khajiit gingerly took the precious stone into her palm, inspecting it.

"I will give you the bag and eighty septims for it." She said bluntly. Midna frowned.

"The Ruby alone is worth two hundred. Do you really think I'd give that away for any less?" She replied, her eyes honing into a glare. Zaynabi's eyes shifted.

"We have many trades to make. I will be lucky to sell this one's jewelry at all. Eighty is fair."

"Make it one hundred and twenty, and you've got a deal." Midna said smugly. Zaynabi turned to her partner, whispering amongst each other. For several moments, they looked between the Imp and the jewel, before an agreement was made.

"One drive's a hard bargain to make Khajiit give away such coin." She said, before slipping the pouch back out of the bag, and into Midna's awaiting hand. The spare guard began to count out coins from a coffer on his side, giving them to Midna in stacks of ten.

With her prize in hand, she nodded her thanks and made her way back towards their shared room. She didn't want to waste another moment arguing – the faster she could treat her friend, the faster they could get moving.

Closing the door, she turned to the bed. Bastrii was asleep, though caught in a cold sweat. She approached the body, medicinal bag at the ready.

"You know, this isn't the first time I've stitched up a light dweller. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be doing it again, and again, and again..."

If Bastrii could hear this, she would probably agree.

Midna wasn't a healer. But with every passing day, she found gruesome wounds a bit easier to treat. She remembered the time Link had to have stitching for an arrow wound, hovering idly in his shadow as she waited impatiently for that old Shaman to finish his work. The man didn't groan, moan, or make eye contact. He simply stared straight ahead, as the needle plunged into his flesh – again and again.

She remembered the stitching. That's all the training she needed to begin. She took the bottle and gingerly dribbled a portion of its contents across the wound. It bubbled for a moment, dirt and other excess minerals floating out in a yellow and green paste. She didn't know the concoction, but it was probably some form of healer's antiseptic.

Taking a fresh pad of clean wool, Midna pressed hard to the wound. Blood slowly seeped through the cloth, as she held it there for several moments. Letting the pressure help clot the gore so she could work. It took a few of the precious bolts of cloth, but eventually, the bleeding had stopped.

Withdrawing a thin, curved needle, she aligned her first prick. The Imp felt anxiety building up in her gut – she didn't want to hurt the already injured Elf beneath her, but it had to be done. She only hoped she could do it well. Releasing the tension, she honed in on her work. Like she used to do, growing up in the Twilight Realm.

With stress came trauma. With trauma came failure. She hounded those words into her head, and poked the needle through.

Bastrii winced in her sleep, but otherwise remained still. Letting Midna take her time, the results a little… underwhelming, but effective.

The skin lay sutured, and that was all that mattered.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she slumped down on the side of the bed.

"It's really starting to feel like I'm doing all of the work here." She said, rubbing her eyes. Yawning after today's events. "I wish I was back in Hyrule. At least then I would be working towards undoing Zant's work, and restoring my body. Instead, I have to waste more time getting back."

She gently drew the blanket over Bastrii, sighing. "I better talk with the Khajiit, and see when they're leaving. Then I'll look into finding food. _Real_ food. Like those soldiers know how to make."

* * *

Oof! That trope where the person dies, but not really. I hate using it, but like... I forgot Guardian Circle was a healing spell, and I had to make use of it _besides_ Bastrii's arm patching up. I couldn't resist!

It also led to some nice character development, and gave me a chance to really solidify Midna's roll as not just a companion, but part of the team. I didn't want her to come across as someone who didn't carry their own weight. I really want her to hold her own, and take an extremely active role in the story. I feel like she didn't do that as much as she should have in the original game.

By the way, I intend on writing this out very slowly and steadily. Time skips are nominal, and only used to skip large distance travel and boring sections of the story. I don't have any intentions of shipping Midna with anyone other than Link, but I do intend on building their friendship into an unbreakable bond. I mean, I wont ship her, unless if a lot of people ask. I'm amazing when it comes to lewd writing, but I feel like it would go against the theme of the story.

If you have opinions on it, let me know! I might include a bonus chapter at the end of the story, at whatever chapter that may be (it's honestly looking to be 60+ chapters long) that includes whatever you'd like to see happen. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Bastrii awoke with a groan, sitting up in her bed. Her chest ached, the pain from before dull and distant. She struggled to sit up, looking herself over. Peeling off the pink bandage, it drew a wince from her pained body – the jagged flesh tender beneath the cloth.

She breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't bleeding, at least.

She found a few bowls next to her bed; one was filled with glorious vegetable and beef stew, which was stone cold. The other was much larger, holding a towel in red-tinted water. Someone had been attending to her injuries, but she had no idea for how long.

And finally, right next to her stew, she noticed it. Her eyes lit up, holding the small jug of milk in her hands. She happily tipped it back, drinking heavily from the warm, soothing pitcher.

Immediately, she felt better. She worked on the stew next, looking around the room.

A lump in the spare bed before her signified that Midna had found rest at last. Peering out the small window on her right, she could see the sun faintly illuminating the world through it. Her internal clock seemed off, and for a while, she couldn't tell if it was dawn or dusk.

Her armor hung from a spare chair, her clothing cleaned and dry. Even the scarf was its familiar green once again, the blood washed out. She smiled, holding it up. The thoughts rolling in her head.

Bastrii gulped. Did Midna pay someone to do all of this? It would have cost an arm and a leg. Knowing her, it was most likely the case.

She turned her left arm over, inspecting her fresh scar. By now, the wound had mostly faded – her fingers feeling dull along their lengths. She gave them a squeeze, feeling the pinpricks of her nerves lighting up.

"_I hope I really didn't damage anything too important..." _She thought to herself, making it to her feet. Her wound was healing nicely, and free of infection – thanks to her Bosmer blood, of course. Whether it be by poison or disease, Bosmers were hardy folk.

She quickly donned her gear, being careful not to let the chain links make too much noise as she slid it on. Midna stirred, turning over. Snoring near silently against the stiff pillow. If anyone was awake, she could finally get some answers.

But first, she needed to do something important.

Her boots at the ready, she made it out doors and towards the stables. Under the patchy roof set her mount, Braehoof – sleeping quietly amongst the hay. His ears perked up immediately, sensing her approach before hearing it.

"How are you doing, buddy?" She whispered in the quiet dawn light. "Being well taken care of?"

The Buck's mouth slid open, and a strong, masculine voice met her ears. "Yes."

Bastrii nearly fell to the floor in panic, her heart hammering in her chest.

"When did you learn how to talk?" She said, as the Elk made it to his cloven hooves. He leaned over the stall doors, looking down at her.

"Y'ffre. Her love." He said simply. He seemed to struggle with the meaning, unsure of his own words. "She."

"Y'ffre taught you?..."

The Elk shook his head. He fumbled to speak, but he tried again. "No. You. Bleh… blessing."

It slowly dawned that she wasn't hearing him speak – he was hearing his thoughts echo clearly in her own head. Her mind rushed to the teachings of her people, remembering the ritual of binding.

"I understand." She said, righting herself. Her hands reached for his snout, gently cupping his face. "It's the Gift. The longer you agree to stay with me, the more my soul influences yours. If I don't let you go soon, you may never return to the wild truly. The original spell ended the first day, yet you choose to stay. Why?"

Braehoof dragged a hoof at the ground, frustrated that he can't just… explain it. Instead, he closed his eyes – channeling the feeling through him, and into her.

Pain is the first thing she felt; not physical pain. The pain of loss. She felt the embrace of a mother gone. She felt the abandonment of friends, and the loss of control of one's own life. The emotions felt nostalgic; until she realized that her companion was answering her question through these very same feelings.

"You too, huh?..." She said. "I guess you were planning on leaving the herd to start your own?"

"...Yes. Free. But..." The Elk rattled his antlers, thinking. "No love."

Bastrii's heart ached for the poor Cervine. He didn't want to be lonely. He wanted a home. And when she gave him a piece of her, he gave a piece of himself back freely.

She placed her hand against his head. "Home." She whispered. He was home with her.

"…Then it's settled. You're my family now, Braehoof. You're part of my herd. Okay?" She gently ran her fingers along his cheek, his eyes closing shut as he leaned into it.

"We have a very long journey ahead of us. Up the mountain. That one." She pointed to the Throat of the World, its majestic peaks gleaming miles up. "We have to go up, then go down. I know Winter is ending soon, and you're already starting to shed your coat just a bit… but do you think you'll make it?"

The Elk looked up into the vast mountain range, the lonely mountain daunting. He stared for minutes, the sun ticking over the horizon before turning back to Bastrii.

"Yes." He replied, firm and confident.

"Will you need more fur?" She said, running her hand over his coat. A few stray hairs followed.

He didn't respond. Either he wasn't sure, or didn't understand the question. Bastrii pushed on, regardless.

"Who's been taking care of you? I only paid Wilhelm once."

The Elk thought quietly, before the name came to his mind. "Midna."

"Midna? Imp Midna? The one who you've been fighting with since day one?" Bastrii tilted her head, arching a brow at the response.

He nodded.

"What about Lynly, or Wilhelm? I paid them to give you some affection. What happened?"

Braehoof smirked. "Antlers."

"You hit them?"

"Yes." He was wearing a smile now, remembering the moment that stupid two-leg tried to touch him, after cursing about his new family. Of course he would hit them. No one insults the herd.

Bastrii chuckled to herself, her fingers scratching just behind his ears. He tilted his head into the touch, happy.

"I guess I'll just leave it then. The sun is coming up, and knowing those Khajiit, they'll be rising soon. Let me feed you and brush you, and we'll talk more on the road. Okay?"

The Elk gave a smile. "Grain."

"Yes, yes – lots of grain!" She giggled, setting to work with the chore. With a full trough of food and water, she gave him a quick brush, eager to get going.

Finding her way back inside, she found that Lynly was awake – dozing fitfully in a nearby chair. She snapped awake at the door, perking up at the sight of the Bosmer.

"You're alive! You look better, too. What happened down there?" She asked, as Bastrii waved her on impatiently.

"Well, dozens of traps, draugr, skeletons, and a near death experience. Otherwise, the usual crypt exploration. Lynly, I know we haven't been properly introduced, but my name is Bastrii. Can you find us a meal?" She asked, withdrawing eight septims from her coin pouch. She dropped them into the Barmaid's hand.

"Alright. I'll see what we have, though there isn't too much on the side of greens. Harvest season is a while away." Lynly made her way into the back room quietly, closing the door behind her. For a few minutes, the Bosmer lounged at a table – just in time to find one of the Khajiit prowling from their room.

"Ah, this one wishes you good morning. How did you find the bandages? Your friend paid well for them." The silver and gray cat said, looking rather chipper. She looked bright eyed and bushy tailed – literally.

"They're fine. Did you apply them?" She asked, reaching her hand forward to shake. The Khajiit replied with the traditional greeting – she gently placed the paw of her hand against the back of Bastrii's, stroking it through her fingers. Unsure, the Bosmer stated her name. "Bastrii."

"Ahkari. And no. That would be your friend, the little floating Daedra. She was very catty! Reminds this One of her mother." She smiled. "We heard you are looking for supplies. What can we do for you?"

Bastrii nodded. "We need to scale that mountain. I'm going to need some winter protection for my steed, a variety of food and pelts, grain for travel, and possibly a cart. A pot to hang over the fire, a few spare utensils, bowls, and plenty of padding and linens. Bedrolls only go so far in freezing weather. And I'm going to need to upgrade my tent to protect us at night."

Ahkari's eyes widened at all of the requests. "We have most of that, but this One is unsure about feed and food. Speak with the locals. I will ask Kharjo to unload what we have, and then I will see."

Bastrii nodded, as Lynly returned with two bowls of porridge, toast, and bacon.

"It's not much, Bastrii, but it's what we have." She offered the tray, and the Elf took it. She nodded her thanks, turning to her room with a goodbye to them both – as the Khajiit discussed a morning meal with the barmaid.

The Bosmer quietly closed the door behind her, making her way to Midna's bedside. She placed the tray on the nearby table next to Midna's helm, gently shaking the Imp.

"Link?" Midna said, turning over on the bed. Her eyes remained shut, tucking the blanket into her chest. "The sun isn't up yet, go back to sleep you stupid Wolf..."

Bastrii tried again, her interest piqued. Wolf?

"C'mon you stupid mutt, leave me be. I had a long night taking care of your Elk..."

Her eyes snapped open.

"Oh." She said, her orange gaze settling on her…_current_ companion.

"Good morning Midna. I found us breakfast." She said with a smile, lifting the tray up. Both bowls still hot, a lump of butter melting into them both. The Imp rubbed her eyes, her hands gingerly taking her portion into her lap.

"Yeah, morning..." She said. She seemed a little down, but she shoveled the food into her mouth regardless of how she felt. Bastrii considered it normal. She didn't seem too much like a morning person, anyway.

"How'd you sleep?" Bastrii asked, sitting on her own bed across the way. The Imp didn't answer for a bit, combining the bread with the meat and oats to make a nice little sandwich.

"It was sleep." She said bluntly.

"So you said something in your dreams about a certain… wolf."

Midna didn't respond. She simply chewed in silence, as Bastrii poked the topic again.

"You said Link was a Wolf. So that confirms it then."

"Confirms what?" Midna said sharply, her eyes locking to hers.

"That this Link character might just be a Bosmer. A Bosmer who can control the Wild Hunt."

Midna face palmed quietly, shaking her head. "No, that… it's not the same. It's not some stupid Elf trick. I was just dreaming, okay? It's nonsense."

Bastrii sighed. Maybe one day she'll give up her secrets. For a few minutes, they both simply enjoyed their food. Bastrii ccasionally throwing a glance to Midna, who just seemed so let down.

Midna finished her bowl quicker than her, then stared at the floor. This finally nagged at the poor Bosmer enough to take action; she set the tray down, and stood up.

"Midna?"

"Hm?"

Bastrii crossed the room in three steps, reaching down to give the Imp a hug. She flinched from the touch, her arms recoiling defensively.

"Thank you for taking care of me last night. And thank you for taking care of Braehoof. He really appreciated it."

Bastrii held the hug for a moment more, feeling awkward when she didn't reciprocate. But eventually, she found Midna's arms wrapping tenderly around her neck. She held on, burying her face into her shoulder. Opening up her tough outer shell just a bit.

"… You're welcome." She said. Her voice was still forlorn, but… there was hope.

Bastrii slowly withdrew from the touch, sighing. "I'm not big on words. It's a Wood Elf thing. But I can tell when someone just… needs something, you know? I guess I could thank my Mother for that."

Midna nodded with a sigh.

"Let's get going. I've got to barter with those Khajiit." Bastrii grabbed her pack and saddlebags from the floor, hoisting the gear onto her shoulders. Midna nodded, slipping her helmet over her head. She tried to reach to the magic within, but with her hair cut short, it had no catalyst to act on.

Sighing, she quickly donned her own gear. Her familiar leather shirt clipped on with the bone buttons on the front, her pants sure to keep her warm in the chilly air ahead. She pulled the scarf around her neck, ready to brave the mountain.

This was it. Today was the day.

They met the Khajiit in the stables out back. Already, Ahkari and Zaynabi had laid out a wide selection of wares. Leather, clothing, a few weapons, trinkets and baubles, and a few kits that held tools of all shapes. Some were for smithing, others were for building. They had a large cart parked to the side, and two horses in the spare stalls of the Inn.

The guards were present as well, though out of their armor. Kharjo, as Bastrii had heard his name, carried with him a long steel blade at his hip. He seemed to eye the Wood Elf carefully, though not as a threat – more so of something of interest. The other fiddled with bags, looking them over for more potential items.

"Khajiit has wares, if you have coin, Elf." Ahkari said, motioning to a wide variety of goods in front of her. Bastrii began to pick her litter, starting with essentials – utensils for cooking, the actual cooking pot, some large yet light furs. Zaynabi piled the merchandise up for her, as Bastrii fumbled with a quiver full of fresh steel arrows.

"Where did you get these?" Bastrii said, curious.

"Bandits on the northern road ambushed us south of Shearpoint. A nuisance, really, but many of the marauders had quick fingers. One of them even stole my Moon Amulet, given to me by my mother when I was just a cub. It is my only memory of home in this cold land. We gave many of them a taste of our blades, of course. And some of their former belongings may end up in our wares." Kharjo said, cleaning his claws. He didn't look up at the duo, but he was definitely a bit more rigid after speaking of the event.

"Moon amulet?" Midna questioned. "Do you worship the moon?"

"It is more than that, Imp. But you could say that, yes. They are headquartered to the north west of here, somewhere along the path to Dawnstar; possibly near Whiterun. If you run across it, you will have my services at your disposal."

The second guard – Dro'marash – returned with a large, wrapped bundle.

"This One almost forgot something the Elf might enjoy. We came across this when dealing with the bandits at Valtheim Towers."

The male Khajiit unwrapped the parcel gingerly, as if it were made of glass. There sat a clean, long, sheath. Nothing more – save for the Elven designs and gold trim, it was finely crafted. At one point, it would have definitely housed a Blade of Mer.

"We have no need for a sheath without blade, but this one in particular caught my eye. For you, I will give it freely."

Bastrii accepted the long case, turning it over in her hands. The smooth leather greeted her, the expert craftsmanship appealing to her eye.

"Thank you. This could one day be useful." She nodded to the Khajiit. Midna had an odd feeling about the case itself, swiping it from the Elf's open palms.

"Something wrong?" Bastrii said, as the Imp gave it a look over.

"No. Not at all. I just have a feeling about it. It's hard to explain, but it's like I've seen this somewhere before." She said, frowning. "Or maybe I'm just going crazy…"

She placed the sheath onto the side of the Saddlebag, as Bastrii began to once again barter for wares. All in all, she made a decent haul – several plates of pelt and leather, four bolts of black, gold, and red cloth (much to the confusion of Midna), cooking utensils, several small pouches of seasonings, the steel arrows, a small set of pliers with dozens upon dozens of small metal rods, and a new pouch for her own belt to keep odds and ends inside.

After counting up the wares, Bastrii offered the gems in trade. A ruby, four amethyst, five garnet, and a sapphire.

Ahkari inspected them with her keen eye, withdrawing a small scope from her shirt pocket.

"Fifty for the poor quality ruby, one hundred for all of the amethyst, twenty for the garnet, and the sapphire… I'll go as high as one hundred thirty."

Bastrii sighed. She knew those gems would go for a lot more to a stone trader, but with the closest town being several days away, she had no choice.

"How much for my order?" She asked, motioning to the large pile of goods.

"Four hundred." Zaynabi said.

"Alright, I'll trade the gems for at least 220, which means I'll owe you 180. Deal?"

The two Khajiits whispered quietly to each other, looking over the gems. Ahkari sighed, and eventually nodded.

"Selling this leather would take much of the strain off of our horse's backs. We'll call it a deal."

Bastrii breathed out the breath she didn't even know she was holding. She would have ten septims left to her name, after it was all said and done.

But she still didn't have a cart. Not yet, at least.

"Give me a bit of time to scrounge up a cart-"

"Cart? We have a spare." Ahkari smiled. "We'll throw it in, too."

Bastrii nodded, "Thank you. That saves me so much time."

Bastrii spent the next several minutes gathering her new belongings, exchanging currency, and filling her old saddlebags with all of the additions.

"Now all we need is firewood, and feed." Bastrii said, scratching the back of her head. "But I'm flat broke. They cleaned me out."

"And they ripped you off, too." Midna said, floating idly behind her as Braehoof trotted along their side. The distant lumber mill split another log, the Darkwater River babbling to their left. "If you didn't notice, they were eager to make you their friend after taking those gems, and selling you that junk. Just in case you were mad with the quality down the road."

"How can you tell?"

"Let's just say I've had formal training on how to spot a lie." She smiled, thinking of her days in the Twilit Castle Halls. Listening to her instructors bemoan her poor attitude and lacking social skills.

"Then I'll just buy some firewood, and uh… 'borrow' a bag or two of grain."

Midna smirked, chuckling darkly. "Really? Didn't think any of you Light Dwellers had it in you to steal from one another. Then again, I've been proven wrong before."

"It's more so the fact that if I have to work for a week straight to get the last of our supplies, I'm not going to be happy with this mountain."

"Hey, hey you!" A voice from the bridge called, noticing the trio making their way steadily along the road. "Passing through on your way to High Hrothgar? About to make a delivery up there myself."

Bastrii stopped by the stone bridge, looking over the man. He wore a simple belted tunic, yellow with a cream undershirt beneath. He looked a little aged, balding with a scruffy brown and gray beard tied off with a knot.

"You? Climbing up the mountain? What are you delivering?" Bastrii asked, raising a brow.

The man nodded; "Mostly food stuffs; dried fish, salted meats, flour and the like. Things that keep for a long time. The Graybeards don't tend to get out much, if you catch my meaning."

Midna looked him over, frowning. "You don't look like you're about to climb a mountain." She said bluntly. He looked over the 'Daedra' in mild shock, before continuing.

"Well, no. Not at the moment. Trouble is, it's a long journey and my legs aren't what they're used to be. Climbing the 7,000 steps takes its toll. But a young pilgrim like yourself, Elf girl? You wouldn't mind helping an Old Nord out, right?"

Midna sighed. Oh boy, another peasant looking for a free ride.

"Well, I might be able to help, but I've got a few problems. I'm short on coin and I need lumber and grain, not to mention a few more foods to fill the gaps."

He smiled. "It just so happens I have all of that to spare. It would save my horse the strain, too, if you could. You already have a cart, if you'd help me out I'll pay you seventy five septims in advance. All you have to do is load up and get going."

Bastrii nodded. "You've got a deal, old man. What's your name?"

"Klimmek. I'm a fisher by the ways. My house is just over here; follow me."

A short walk later, Bastrii found herself with every provision she could hope and dream for. Three days up, and three days down. And she had everything for it.

She fitted the hitch firmly on Braehoof's shoulders, smiling as everything finally clicked into place. A small wooden cart hung tight to his back, filled with two dozens split logs, two sacks of grain, and three sacks of supplies for the graybeards. Plenty enough to reach the top, especially with several rations of bread, apples, and cheese to go along with the venison.

They crossed the stone bridge, the towering peaks looming over the Imp and her companion.

"I don't like the look of this mountain." Midna said. She didn't like it because it was ugly, rather the fact that she had to climb it.

"I don't like the look of the clouds." Bastrii replied, thick patches of perpetual white hanging closer to the imposing stone far up. It was much darker near the peak, the sun unable to pierce the thick fleece layer above. Even so, they pressed on, climbing the first dozen steps with ease.

"That's twelve." Midna said; though she didn't actually climb them. She just floated along. "Just 6,988 more to go."

"Don't remind me." Bastrii shouldered her pack, Braehoof following along close behind. The cart rattled a bit from the first flight, but held steadfast against the rickety movement.

Midna shivered when a stiff breeze wrapped around her, drawing her scarf over her lips. She fiddled with her helmet, trying to fit the hood over before giving up. Tossing open the saddlebag, she set the Fused Shadow gently into the pouch. The mount eyed her carefully as she did so.

"Don't lose that, okay, Braehoof?" She said, gently patting the Elk's head. He nodded quietly.

Bastrii gawked. She hadn't actually took in Midna without her iconic hat, the dark stone rather gloomy against her colorful hair. Her full face was only exposed for a brief moment, before she tucked the red hood over her fiery mane. Of course, she had spotted her a few times in dim light, but…

"What? Is there something on my face?" She said, her voice muffled by the fabric. Bastrii shook her head.

"No no. I just wanted to see what you looked like beneath that giant stone mask. Your hair is weird, but your eyes kinda remind me of my Father's. He had ember red eyes, too."

Midna rolled her own irises in exaggeration. "Well, if you're done staring, we still have a mountain to climb. Let's not stop at every little comment."

Bastrii nodded. She barely realized her feet had come to a respite. She took up the pace again, marching steadily up the path. Another twelve steps cut from the rock, and she quickly scaled them, her companions following her lead.

And she lead on. Minutes turned to hours while midday broke the sky. The clouds settling over their side of the peak as fresh snow began to trickle down from above.

"It's going to get cold tonight, so we're going to camp early. I'm going to spend some time stitching gear for Braehoof, so he doesn't just completely freeze when we reach closer to the top. He may be strong, but he's not as tough as a Nordic Horse."

"Alright. Any ideas how long that will take?" Midna asked, yawning. She should have bought a book before they left. Or at least something to keep her entertained. Bastrii was very stoic.

"Probably a few hours. I'm fast when it comes to sewing up gear. But I've never made anything like this before, so we'll see."

Bastrii stopped at the corpse of a goat. It had mostly frozen over, making it hard for it to rot away into bone – but it was clear that it had passed within the last day. She examined it, gently turning the chilled fur over between her fingers. There was a messy splotch of something… acidic in the fur, the open wound beneath smothered in it.

She sniffed it, wincing.

"Venom. From a Frostbite Spider. There might be one prowling around here. Look out for any holes in the wall, they're hard to miss."

"Pfft, Link had slain a dozen spiders before. They're creepy, sure – but I'm not afraid of them."

Bastrii withdrew her bow, knocking an arrow. Her Elk stopped, fidgeting on the spot.

His mouth opened, and he spoke urgently. "Up!"

Bastrii followed his eyes. A giant spider, about the size of a horse, lay perched on the rock. Its cover blown, it leaped for the closest target: Bastrii.

She tucked her body into a roll just in time; the massive, eight legged beast slammed into the stone, skittering on its legs to face her. Its hairy appendages raised up, exposing its massive fangs and hungry maw within. The fine hairs around its mouth glistening with fresh blood.

Those same fangs angled upwards, a jet of acidic venom spurting towards the Elf. It sizzled past her face, hitting a nearby rock with a gush of burning mineral.

Bastrii – still prone – rolled out of the way as its legs crashed down where she just was. Her heavy bag making it hard to find her footing, she dashed around on her hands and knees; barely dodging every fresh swipe. Her bow left forgotten for the moment.

A burst of fire slammed into the creature's back, its hairy abdomen burning with molten embers as it gave a mighty screech. Spinning around, its legs threw into the air as another jet of venom sprayed toward its assailant; Midna. She weaved to her left, a few droplets burning into her coat. Bastrii leaped at it from behind.

She landed on its back, the creature bucking in rage. Her Elven dagger swung down – hard. It crashed into the creature's exoskeleton, slipping past the hard shell and directly into the brain.

Its hairy legs gave out, the body sinking into the stone beneath it as Bastrii panted. She withdrew her dagger, wiping it on the creature's furry torso.

Midna winced at the sight of the ugly monstrosity.

"I take it back! I'm terrified of _these_ spiders. Skyrim spiders are horrible. By Din's Fire, these are common?" Midna said, floating several feet from the dead arachnid. She shuddered at the thought of it even touching her, and she didn't even want to think about riding one of those things like Bastrii did.

"Very common in caves. It worries me that it's living so close to a well traveled path, though." Bastrii eagerly stepped off of the body, shuddering. That's definitely something she'll relive in her nightmares. "Let's just hope there isn't a nest of them along the way. One is easy enough, several dozen is a death sentence."

Braehoof eyed the fallen spider in fear, eager to put it out of mind. He cantered up the path ahead of the group, giving a small bugle for his friends to follow.

"Come! Away!" He said, and Bastrii nodded.

"He doesn't like spiders, either. Let's get going."

Bastrii jogged to stay by his side, the Imp giving one last look at the terrifying arachnid.

"I hope to the Goddesses that we never have to enter a cave with these things." She mumbled, before reaching Bastrii's side. The Elf took the lead again, as time began to pass by slowly once again.

An hour. Three. They took a small break, Bastrii fiddling with a bowl of water for Braehoof as they came to a rest on a little plateau. It offered them a small view of the world below, Bastrii recounting her steps.

"We're at nearly two thousand so far. My legs are going to go numb, and dusk is approaching soon. I think we should camp so I can improve the tent and make some gear for Braehoof."

"Two thousand steps? We've been traveling since morning. And we've only made two thousand?" Midna complained, looking up the tall mountain. It felt like they've made a lot more progress than that, but her vantage point wasn't the best to make that judgement.

"I've been kinda keeping count. Give or take maybe fifty. I'm not the best when it comes to arithmetic, and the Spider threw me off for a while."

Bastrii began to unpack the cart, unhitching it from Braehoof's side. She took out the two pins on either wheel, slipping both wheels into the cart. She pinned them with a spare log each, just to be sure nothing rolled away in the night.

"We haven't seen any other pilgrims yet, which is a bit worrying. There's usually at least a few strung out along this mountain, from what I've heard."

Midna flopped down onto a nearby rock, letting her magic dissipate naturally. Her body ached from the strain of using it, and it really began to show. It manifested in fatigue, her muscles stiff from exerting excess energy to keep balance. She turned her eyes to the area around her, spotting a small shrine built against the cliff face.

"What's that?" She asked, motioning to the engraved stones.

"Anything from memorials, to history, poems or even graves. I don't want to waste time reading each one." Bastrii said, adjusting a new pole on her tent frame. It had to shelter the three of them, and Braehoof isn't very small.

Bastrii? Not wanting to waste time? She must be an imposter. Regardless, Midna watched as she worked, the Bosmer's hands working deftly to tie down the tent. It rose much higher than its previous incarnation, allowing adequate headroom for even their four legged friend. The old tebt sat on top like a roof, a dozen inches hanging down on either side as she tied it to the frame.

Working swiftly to prevent the wind from sweeping it away, she fastened yards of string to each end – nailing four spikes into the cold dirt beneath them. It held fast, and with the initial pain done, she worked on the new tent walls.

She unfolded the leather, frowning at how thin it felt – regardless of the decent quality. Regardless, she set to work constructing their shelter for the night as Midna watched.

"I had a dream last night." Midna interrupted, sitting up straight. Her gloved palms rested on the rock beneath her, her fiery eyes gazing into the distant lands below. "It… well, it wasn't the best dream I could hope for. But I dreamed of Hyrule. I dreamed of Link."

Bastrii looked to her, listening in silence. Waiting for her to go on.

"I dreamed that he was stuck in a jail cell, all over again. Cold. Alone. Chained up and unable to escape. Except this time, I wasn't there to save him. I dreamed that I was the one who was shot. That the arrow pierced my chest instead of yours. And I was all alone, and no one was coming to save me, either."

Bastrii worked quietly, before speaking. "Nightmares aren't a bad thing." She said, her bone needle working effortlessly with her sinew string.

"What do you mean? Nightmares are terrible. I've never really had them until… well, back in Hyrule, I guess."

"Nightmares are your mind's way of telling you what's wrong emotionally. Your brain isn't the best when it comes to… well, talking to you. It's trying to express a motion you're repressing, or it's trying to help toughen you up to your fears."

Bastrii tied off a length of leather around the new wall, letting the roof flap fall over it.

"The dream about Link, it probably means that you feel unable to do anything about your situation. It may not be directly referring to him, but it's a place to start. You probably feel he's lost without you. And for the arrow, you might feel helpless."

Midna's eyes slid down to the ground. She didn't speak for a while, only resting as the snow trickled down slowly.

"What does it mean when you dream that your heart is locked in a birdcage?"

Bastrii stopped, looking to Midna.

"It means you're hiding your true feelings from the world." She said quietly. Bastrii didn't reach out as Midna floated to the side of the cliff. She sat on the stone, looking down to lands beneath them; her head hanging low.

Sighing, the Bosmer made the effort to join her friend. She rested on the cliff side next to her, doing her best to not think about falling. Midna sat inches from her left. The Twili didn't speak, but she leaned against Bastrii's side.

The Elf's arm gently rested around her, as the lost Imp began to cry.

"Bastrii?" She said as the tears reigned in, slowing to a halt. "I've been a terrible person. I've done horrible things to that man, and…"

She shushed her with a hug.

"It's not what you've said, it's what you intended. It's your goal. If your goal was to hurt him, he would feel hurt. My father taught me about the importance of reading your dreams, but my mother taught me something greater."

"What's that?" She said quietly, looking up to her Companion's eyes.

"The importance of reading one's intentions. Because what someone says doesn't hold a candle to what they'll do. The words you've spoken are nothing to the affection you've given. We all say things when we're scared, or angry – but when we act on those words, that's what truly shows who we are."

For a while, Midna seemed to reflect on those words.

"Bastrii?"

"Yes Midna?"

"Stop being wise. You're making me look bad." She said with a smile, wiping away the last of the tears.

* * *

Hey everyone! Sorry for the long delay between chapters. As of late, I've been working a lot of overtime, especially because of Saint Patrick's Day (super busy day for me!) I have to make rent somehow. I know I have a few errors in my previous chapters; I plan on going over them, and refining the story later. (I usually go through one round of editing before publishing, with some adjustments during writing as well).

How long would you like to see this story become? I've been known to out-write most books, and Skyrim has some supporting evidence for a connection between Hyrule and Nirn. (In the Switch edition of Skyrim, you can find the Master Sword, Shield, and Hero's Tunic, all in-game without mods or amiibos!) And it's already confirmed that Breath of the Wild follows the Twilight Princess timeline, so maybe we could see something along those lines?

I plan on completing several of the quests in Skyrim. If there's any in particular you want to see, let me know! Lots planned out already.


	9. Chapter 9

Finishing the camp site was easy enough; the tent was secure against the wind, a fair distance from the edge of the cliff. It lay closest to the path, the far side against the mountain too cluttered with thin brush and rock to make a fine shelter. The wind was generous; billowing soft tufts of the flaky powder free from the stone and earth.

Bastrii began to fiddle with the flint and tender once again, wood ready to light. She held the bundle of fine wood shavings out of the wind, sparking the back side of her skinning knife against it.

Midna watched, amused as her friend cursed and fumbled with the task.

"I SWEAR this NEVER happens." Bastrii said, the 'survival expert' growling in frustration as the sparks just can't seem to land in the flammable material. "It's the wind, or I'm crazy."

Midna raised her right hand, whispering the word to herself. _"Ignis aereo."_

The Bosmer tumbled out of the way as an endless burst of fire poured from the Imp's free hand, the flames dancing over the wood before they sparked and took to life. Heat soon followed, the fire crackling in the twilight sky.

"You could warn me next time!" Bastrii yelped, brushing fallen snow off of her armor. Braehoof watched the fire curiously, seeing it dance and flick before him.

"Hot?" He asked, stepping closer to the flame. The warmth tickled his fur, and he gave a sigh. "Yes. Hot. It is good. Warm."

"It's going to be warmer in the tent, Braehoof. I left room for you in the back. The fire will heat up the inside tonight, so we don't have to sit around it in the cold."

Braehoof nodded, but continued to stare. He mumbled to himself for a while, shaking his barren back to dislodge any pesky snow. Midna turned to the saddlebags, gently setting her helmet to the side as she withdrew the small cooking pot. She handed it to Bastrii, the Elf setting it up deftly over the fire.

"So…" Bastrii began, tying a knot in the leather strip. "Why do you keep that helmet? It probably weighs a ton, and it doesn't seem like a good choice for armor."

The Imp held the stone mask in her hands, sitting down by the fire side. "Let's just say it's not protecting me, so much as I'm protecting it."

"Is it some kind of… heirloom?"

"No no, more like… A source of power." She said thoughtfully. She ran her fingers over the stone face, frowning as a piece of the rock came off. It chipped between her fingers, from just a touch.

"So it's like a soul gem, then." Bastrii withdrew one of the jewels from her bag, resting it in her palm. "Filled with power, at a great cost."

"Soul Gem? What are those?" She asked, stretching her hand out to take it. Bastrii gave it willingly, the Twili balancing it in her fingers.

"It's a crystal that houses the life essence of a dead enemy. Or… as the name implies, its soul. Most creatures have a white soul – those of pure, or simple minds that do not stray into the life ordeals of Men and Mer. Animals are a fine example of this. People – Argonians, Bretons, Khajiits, Bosmer, Altmer, Imperials and so forth – house black souls, and can't be captured by ordinary gems."

Midna gulped, holding the gem up to the coming night sky. "So this holds the very life of a fallen creature? Its essence, its memory, everything its done?"

"Yes. That would be a petty gem. You can use it to power enchantments, but it's not useful for creating them. It's much too small to be effective."

Midna returned the gem to Bastrii, as the Bosmer looked over the crown in her lap.

"Do you mind if I take a look?" She asked, nodding towards the stone helm.

Midna reflexively tucked the object closer to her torso, as if protecting it from her words. But, realizing who she's with, she timidly placed the item in Bastrii's open hand.

"Be very careful. Don't put it on, it could hurt you. And please… don't break it or lose it." She said. She didn't let go for a second, driving the point home with her eyes. Midna seemed desperate for her to follow her plea.

Bastrii nodded, gently bringing the relic towards her.

She held it aloft in her fingers, looking at its ornate design against the backdrop of the fire. She could feel… something within, a power that clung to the very surface of the helm. It was nothing like the tingling touch of a soul gem – this felt absolutely malevolent, as if contained behind a thin glass.

And a thought reached into her head, taunting her. Why not put it on? Wear it around. Feel that… _power_ slipping inside. Engraving into your fingers, willing the world under your control.

Her thoughts were cut short as Braehoof pressed and nuzzled against her face, waking her up from her stupor. She felt the panic coursing through his veins.

She returned the helmet to her companion, who quickly brought it back into the tent – and out of mind.

"Don't do that." Braehoof said, much to Bastrii's confusion.

"Do… what?"

"Don't hide… your antlers." He said, stomping a cloven hoof. His words came with a little more vigor, the confidence in his voice showing that his speech was improving.

"…I understand. I promise Braehoof, I wont put on the helmet." Bastrii nodded to her friend, running a hand over his snout. He gave a tiny bugle, nuzzling in.

"Family." He said, closing his eyes.

"Are you two done having your moment?" Midna asked, yawning. "I thought you were going to work on gear tonight? It's already freezing out here, I'm sure Mr. _Giant__ Horns_ would like to _not_ freeze to death later on." She said, tapping her boot on the ground impatiently. "If you don't recall, that's why we camped early."

Bastrii slowly made it to her feet with a sigh, "I guess you've got a point. Alright big bull, let's get you measured up. _After_ I start dinner. Alright?"

Braehoof flicked his antlers, happy for the attention. Turning to their rations, she withdrew the large, wrapped canteen that Ralof had left in her pack, all those days ago. She had filled it up at the Darkwater River, and it sloshed merrily. She brought over to the piping hot pot, setting it to the side. She gathered her other ingredients, drawing out a pound of the smoked venison (which she made extra careful to hide from Braehoof's curious eyes, just in case he questioned it), a few potatoes, garlic, and a whole onion from Klimmek's bag.

She tossed the meat in first, letting it sizzle on the bottom for a minute on each side while she roughly chopped up the potatoes. Excess oil ran off into the bottom of the pot, and she withdrew the meat to rest on a clean plate. In the mean time, she worked on the other ingredients.

Her skinning knife worked tirelessly on the onion and garlic, adding the raw ingredients to the bottom of the bubbling fat. A few quick stirs seared the veggies, a splash of water joining the mixture. Slicing the meat into chunks, she added it in with a heavy dose of salt from her seasoning bags.

The majority of the cooking done, she cleaned her tools and turned to the extra pelts. She had used a few plates to cover the bottom of the tent, and she had four mountain goat furs left. Looking him over, she decided that the best place to cover was his torso, as it housed the vital organs.

"Alright Brae, let's get you a nice winter jacket." She smiled, reaching up with the first pelt. He questioned the word.

"Jacket?"

"Yep! A jacket. It will help keep you warm, though I don't know if it will be comfortable for you to wear all the time.

She held the treated fur to his torso, wrapping it around his neck like a large bib. The Elk fidgeted as she withdrew the fur, Bastrii ducking under him.

He stomped his cloven hooves a bit, giving a very gentle bugle.

"Oh hush you big baby. I'm just going to measure your torso." She slid the pelt up, pressing it tight to his belly. He stepped forward, nearly bumping Bastrii with his… unmentionables.

"I am NOT measuring _that_, Brae. Calm down!"

Midna nearly fell over laughing, the Elk turning his head away to avoid eye contact. He stomped his hoof in agitation, unable to speak what he felt.

After a moment, the word came to him.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, Braehoof. Just be careful where you point your uh… 'sword' in the future." Bastrii blushed, as Midna wiped away tears.

"Oh for crying out loud, at this rate, you might as well marry him! He's all ready to go! Ha!" Midna slammed her fist into the stone, heaving from the thought.

"Marry?" Braehoof smiled. He knew that word!

"I'm not marrying an Elk, Midna." Bastrii glared at the Imp, tossing the pelt over his back. The Elk frowned.

"Aw..." He cried, head hanging low. But he would love to marry the pretty two-leg lady! She was very nice. At the very least, she would sire his calves, right?

Wait… could she do that? The Elk felt sadness eating away at him. How would she be a part of his family if she couldn't have his calves? Does she understood what he meant by family? Maybe he should explain it to her again. Later, when the small two-leg wasn't listening. When he understood the Bosmer's language just a bit more.

Bastrii sat down on the nearby stone, her fingers working tirelessly to stitch the clothing together. It reminded her of when she pieced together Midna's current clothes. Her eyes flicked to the garments; they looked… worn. There were a few stains across the front, though the wearer didn't seemed bothered by it. In fact, from the looks of things, Midna hadn't been taking care of herself lately.

Bastrii decided the group would have to stop by the hot springs to the north east eventually, so they could all wash up. While Bosmer didn't naturally stink, the sweat did make her armor stick to her body more than she liked.

Several minutes passed, she stood up to fit the pelt. Bastrii belted it across his neck, the Elk taking this chance to give her a soft, caring nuzzle.

"It's okay boy. I forgive you. Now, let me work." She smiled, scratching him behind the ears. They flicked with joy, as the protection settled nicely across his front. "That will help break the wind. Now, to keep you warm..."

With three pelts left, she managed to hurriedly bind a jacket for his torso. It ran down his back, ending at his tail – several holes at the edges showing the make shift bone buttons.

She was happy she kept those old antlers – they were perfect for this kind of work.

With the potatoes soft, she tossed a hearty helping of flour into the pot, stirring it in graciously. Minutes passed, the stew thickening into a wonderfully simple concoction.

Midna found her bowl, hovering in front of the fire impatiently. Eager for another meal. Bastrii ladled her a serving, the Imp sticking her spoon in before shoving a helping into her mouth.

"Ow! Hot hot hot!" She shouted, gasping billowing wafts of steam.

"No! Really? I thought that the fire was going to cool it down, Midna." She chuckled to herself. "Can you wait five minutes, or will you die before then?"

"Of course I'll die! We haven't eaten all day, and I'm ravenous!" Midna whined, blowing on the next spoonful impatiently. "You should have let me dig around the bags for something to eat at noon."

"If I did, we wouldn't have any bread to go with our stew. Speaking of which..." She withdrew a loaf, cutting two large slices from the hunk. Midna snatched her portion up, biting into it with a growl.

Braehoof nuzzled at her shoulder. "Food?"

"Yes, yes, here – give me a second. I'll set up your feed bag."

She raised the pot from the flames, unloading a heavy linen bag from the cart. The Bosmer set it down, unrolling the top to expose the horse feed within. The Elk dove into his dinner, chewing happily.

"_Finally_..." She whispered to herself, able to tend to her own needs. She filled her bowl with a few ladles, plopping down next to Braehoof. She even managed to give him a small bucket of water, too, much to his satisfaction.

Funnily enough, this somewhat reminded her of the day she met Midna. Warm stew by a fire. It brought back memories, though Rolf's cooking was much better than hers. Probably because he was an Alchemist, and had a thousand more ingredients than she did.

Midna finished her bowl, using her slice of bread to sop up the remaining droplets of stew. She eyed the pot for a moment, cautiously reaching a gloved hand for the ladle.

_Crack!_ Bastrii's utensil slapped the back of her glove hard, the Imp withdrawing it with a scowl.

"Don't touch breakfast. We still have a long way to go, and our rations has to last us the way down, too." She eyed the Imp, who shot daggers back at her.

There was a stony silence between the two, as they fought through the use of determined glares.

"Yep, if I were queen, your head would be the first to roll." Midna smiled, stretching. "I'd serve it up on a platter with lots of those potatoes, and I'd stuff your mouth with the beans that are green."

"Long beans."

"The nasty ones, yes. That taste like dirt. Fitting." She smirked, while the Bosmer slurped her stew.

"I'd honestly like to see you try. I came back from the dead once, do you really want me haunting you over a meal?"

"Well, I wouldn't be able to hear you over all of the stew eating I would be doing, so I don't see the problem." She giggled, drawing a smile from her companion. "But it's late anyway. I think it's time for me to head to bed."

She gave a yawn, standing up. For the first time in ages, she actually used her legs to walk. Midna took her bedroll from the underside of Bastrii's backpack, rolling it out on the warm pelts on the floor – just out of sight of Bastrii and her companion.

"C'mon buddy, you too. Let's all get some rest tonight." She scratched behind Brae's ears, packing up the bag of grain and returning it to the cart. "You'll be sleeping with us tonight. Just keep an ear out for any trouble – though there isn't much that would attack us on the side of a mountain."

Braehoof smiled again, pressing his snout to his rider's chin. "Yes."

She entered the tent, letting Braehoof clop inside after her. The fire had kept it cozy in the large chamber. She fiddled with the flap at the entrance, lowering it until it rested just high enough for the heat of the flame to fill the room.

In the dim light of the embers, she quickly unrolled her bedroll and stripped her hauberk and chain, leaving her chest covered with a simple strip over the front. She left her boots at the end of her blankets, her dagger resting within short reach of her hand if she needed it.

Braehoof laid right next to her bedroll, his eyes trained on her as she slipped beneath the furry sheets. He wanted to say something about her comment from before, but he felt like the words just weren't there yet.

Bastrii closed her eyes, curling up into a bundle beneath the blankets. He scooted closer, until his chest was resting against her back – sharing his warmth with his family.

The words clicked into his head. "Good night." He said, nuzzling against her neck. Bastrii mumbled her thanks, before slipping off into dreamland.

And just like that, Braehoof was alone. He gazed down at his companion, wanting to just hold her. But his hooves were too clunky to make the effort.

"_It's the magic."_ He thought to himself, his mind growing less hazy by the hour. "_Do I really want to have mind of man, but… body of Elk?"_

He could leave. He could leave and return to the wilds – Bastrii would be saddened, but she would understand. Things like this aren't meant to be. His mind would grow hazy, dull, and the instincts of the wild would slowly come back to him. He wouldn't be able to speak again. He would be dumb prey, fighting the elements alone.

And for what? His mother was killed by wolves. He wasn't the alpha of his herd, the one he was surely an outcast from. He never found love there.

He reached inside of him, feeling the magic coursing through his veins. How deeply rooted it was to his soul, how it let him see the knowledge the Elf had. It's why he could understand her, the reason he could speak. How words became clear to him. He could ask the connection between the two, and it would give him an honest answer.

And he asked it. What should he do?

The word came to his mind after a minute, like all the knowledge has – and it said one word. "Pray."

So he did. He bowed his head, and he prayed to Y'ffre for guidance. Should he give up his life in the wilds, and stay with the young elf? Even if it meant he would never have a family? Y'ffre gave him his shape, when he shaped nature to be – could he shape hearts as well?

No response.

He closed his eyes, resting his head on a nearby pillow. No response… for some reason, he didn't expect one. But it still hurt, none-the-less.

And when he opened his eyes again, dawn was breaking on the far horizon. Did he really sleep? It didn't feel like he did, though the sun's rays clearly proved otherwise.

He brought his head up, his mind feeling clear. "Bastrii, it's time to wake up." He said. For the first time, the words came naturally to him. Though he hardly took notice; his mind was still wandering from the conflicting thoughts.

Her eyes shot open, looking up to the Elk in shock. "Huh? Oh. Good morning Braehoof," She yawned, stirring under the sheets. "You sound different."

"I feel different." He flicked his ears. It was true; every day, he felt different than the last. More… insightful. Intelligent. "The sun has broke the horizon. It's time the herd moves."

"Uh…" Bastrii looked up to him, dumbfounded. When did he get a dictionary?

The Elf slowly made it to her feet, stretching the sleep from her bones. The Elk watched his… companion, set to work dressing herself. He used an antler to prop up her gambeson, the Elf flinching at his aid.

"Braehoof?" She asked, adjusting her mail jack. Her gaze never left his.

"Yes, Bastrii? Is something wrong?"

She didn't respond, only stare at him. Just the other day, he could hardly form a single sentence without thinking on it. Now? He was talking as if it was natural. And it really wasn't – it was unnerving to the woman. She looked into his eyes, seeing the intelligent pools searching her own.

By now, the magic had most definitely become near irreversible. She had no idea what this could possibly mean to her, in the long run – but it was unsettling to know that she gave sentience to him, and that he may never be a free spirit again.

"I wanted to ask you something, last night..." Braehoof said, in the awkward silence that followed. "I couldn't think of the words. They're still hard to… come up with, but I want to know."

"Okay. I'm listening." Bastrii said. She kept her distance, watching his mouth move in the fluid motion of speech. Before, his lips only parted and the words came out. Now? It actually looked like the Elk was talking.

"When I said 'family', you… you knew what I meant, right?" He said. Bastrii took note that his face couldn't wear many expressions, but his eyes could. And they seemed to gleam with hope.

"Well, yes. Like brother and sister. A herd. Companions. A group – something you didn't have with your… clan, when you decided to stay with me. Right?"

He frowned. A new emotion took his mind, one he hadn't experienced before. He felt his heart sink in his chest, an inch deeper than before. "Oh, yes. Definitely that. That's what I meant." He nodded, giving her a smile.

Bastrii flinched. Did… did he just lie?

No. He couldn't. He wouldn't lie to her – would he?

"Alright. What's wrong? Be honest with me."

"Honest?" He thought for a moment. He never had to lie before, so the word blindsided him. "I am honest."

The Elf stared right through him. Her mother had taught her one important thing when it came to speaking to people – if you stared at them long enough for an explanation, they would give it.

Then again, Braehoof wasn't exactly 'people', was he?

Right?

"…I wanted to know if you could… well…"

"Bastrii, who's talking?" Midna mumbled, stirring in her sleep. The blankets obscuring her head, making it hard to discern what she's saying. "He's being really loud, can you two talk outside of the tent or something? You're going to wake up Braehoof."

Bastrii's eyes widened, as Midna suddenly bolted straight up.

"This isn't a dream, oh my Goddess this is NOT a dream! The Elk is talking!" She shouted, startling the two.

This new information seemed to take not just Bastrii, but Braehoof by surprise as well. It also didn't help that Midna was stark naked, though it didn't matter – her form had nothing to really express beyond a few feminine curves.

"But I've been able to talk since yesterday?" He said, stumbling to his hooves. Midna fell flat on her rear, the elk's horns pressing against the roof of the shelter. He reflexively ducked down, avoiding toppling Bastrii's hard work.

"And you were hiding it from me?! The whole time?" Midna shouted, slamming her fists onto the bed. "What! Hold on, Bastrii, pinch me – this can't be real. Light dweller animals don't talk. If they could talk, I would feel bad about eating them! Please tell me they don't _speak!_"

All eyes turned to Bastrii, as she raised her hands up to defend herself.

"Well… no, it's not normal. It's really not. But it can happen. It's happened before, I mean – though under different circumstances. And it can happen in reverse, to – uh… Bosmer can turn into Animals, and back again – with the correct rituals and magic present. But… look, when I used my call to Brae… ugh. This is hard to explain.

She breathed deeply, controlling her thoughts. She hated speaking under pressure. "Okay. So, when I used Y'ffre's Blessing on Brae, it wasn't just magic that I called. I literally broke off a piece of me, and implanted it in him. For one hour, Braehoof would be under my direct control; afterwords, he could choose to leave or stay. When he chose to stay, he held on to that piece of me. And as long as he decides to keep it, we will share a deep connection. This means that he slowly learns from me, just by being in my presence. The closer he is, the faster he learns to speak, and the more 'tainted' his soul becomes."

"Tainted? Is he going to get sick? He can't get sick! Who will pull the cart?" Midna threw her hands up in frustration, fretting over the potential labor.

That comment made Braehoof upset. He wasn't here to just… pull a cart, was he?

"No no no. Okay, remember when I told you about soul gems, right? Animals have pure, white souls. And Men, Beastmen, and Mer have black souls. The longer my soul interacts with his, the darker his soul becomes – until it turns black, and he absorbs that piece of my soul until he passes. That's what happens when he doesn't 'return' to the wild. We become bound to each other until one or the other dies."

Midna looked between the two, absolutely not buying it. "And all of this can happen in like… what, four days?"

"I think the magic number is seven. On the seventh day, our souls are bound together. And as long as I live, so will he, and I will never be able to call Y'ffre's Blessing until he passes."

Braehoof fidgeted uncomfortably. He somehow knew that living as long as Bastrii was going to be a very, very long time. But Midna brought up some more valuable information.

"You said something about… transforming into an animal. I thought Bosmer could only turn into that… beast thing, you mentioned. The Wild Hunt?"

"There's more to it than that – I'll tell you on the road. Let's just… drop it all for now, and get packed up. We'll talk later." Bastrii threw on her clothes, hoping to avoid more questions. Suddenly, Wood Elves were all the rage it seemed, and everyone wanted to know more about them.

She started by adding a log to the dim coals, kicking up the heat while the pot returned to the fire. Braehoof and Midna soon joined her outside, Midna having returned her gear to its proper spot on her body. Bastrii ripped the roof down, folding it neatly.

"So..." Midna said, floating next to the Elk. "Uh… Do you have anything interesting to say, then?"

The Elk looked her over. "You're wearing the fur of the enemy Clan of the Branch, from the southern folds of the Shallow Glen. I'm sickened that you wear a pelt of my cousins, but… happy it's one of theirs. They were a horrible Herd, and had it coming." He said bluntly.

Midna scratched the back of her head, giving a small, unsure laugh.

"Uh… thanks."

Bastrii rolled up the cords she used to bind the stakes, tucking them in to her travel pack. She undid the leather wraps, letting the tent walls topple. She gathered the frame together, setting the extra long poles back into the wagon. The leather quickly joined, followed by the pelts and bedrolls. With everything in its proper place, she went back to stirring the stew.

A thick layer of snow had formed on the ground from their rest, making it uncomfortable to sit on the rocks around camp. Regardless, it had to be done. Bastrii filled two bowls, offering Midna a cool slice of goat cheese.

Bastrii withdrew a round, green apple from the bag, holding it up to Braehoof's muzzle. He smiled brightly, immediately knowing the word.

"Apple. These are rare in Shallow Glen. Thank you." He nodded, graciously accepting the fruit. He bit into it voraciously, plucking it from Bastrii's hand. She set out the grain, and everyone enjoyed a quick meal before taking to the road once more.

"Alright. We're moving. Now it's your turn to talk, Dragon_bird_. What's going on with transformation magic?"

Bastrii sighed. "Okay. In Valenwood, there are many Clans – or Families, and each has three animals that represent them. In times of need, a Bosmer can take the shape of one of these three animals. My father's Clan claims the Elk, the Wolf, and the Hawk. Many Clans can share these animals, but we have the bloodline of these three.

"A Bosmer, with a dire need or intense willpower, can shift into one of the three animals by choice. The transformation is very draining, and should be used sparingly to prevent adverse effects. It comes from our teachings of Y'ffre.

"You see, in the Dawning Era, the Aedra came and took on the Earth Bones. Also known as the first flesh bodies. Y'ffre was one of the first Aedra, and she brought order to the land. And she gave us the knowledge to hold on to one shape, as during that time, Bosmer were endlessly shifting their form in chaotic bodies. Mashes of vegetation and beast, with this knowledge, could finally retain the form of Mer we have today.

"But, if we ever needed to, Y'ffre taught us the ritual to turn back to these chaos creatures. We call it the Wild Hunt. By channeling it, you lose your shape and return to your uncontrolled form, and begin an endless rampage across the land. Those who stay in this form too long, and try to turn back, often fail – and become a mismatched creature of a feral mind, who will ravage the land. It's said that with every hunt, came every wild monster you see today."

Bastrii glared onwards and up the path, hiding her anger. Bosmer hated speaking of the Wild Hunt, especially in great length. She was no exception. It was a shameful ritual that should only be used in desperation, yet she found herself bringing it up at random to keep things lively. It was something she hated about herself; kind of like how one would peel a scab off of a wound, when it's best left to heal.

"You said you could become an Elk, right?" Braehoof asked, his ears perked up high.

"Yes. An Elk, a Wolf, or a Hawk. During my fourteenth birthday, known as the Burning Year; it's tradition your father teaches you the ritual, and that you spend one night in each body. The ritual is very short, but requires drinking the blood of the animal you wish to transform into. It's partly why certain… aspects, of the Green Pact revolve around consuming your enemies, on top of not letting meat go to waste."

Braehoof nearly jumped for joy, ignoring the last part. Yes! Bastrii could feel his emotions, but didn't turn to look at him. She only focused on the path ahead.

Midna found this the perfect time to speak in length about her own travels.

"Say, I do have to tell you something about Link." She said quietly, floating in close to the Elf. "He can transform into a Wolf, too. Without blood, but… only under certain circumstances."

Bastrii turned her head to face her. "Then he's a Bosmer. Simple enough. You only need to take the blood once; after that, it's all about focus, willpower, and determination. Though having some on hand makes it much easier to obtain the form. I have a million reasons to think he's one of my Kin, and that's definitely not helping."

Midna clapped her hands. "Wonderful, you understand then. Now, turn into a Wolf so I can ride you." She said, excited to have her own mount again. One that was more her own size, unlike Braehoof.

"Uh… no."

Midna pouted and glared, turning to face the Elk.

"Antler Boy! Make her do it, and I'll give you another apple."

Braehoof ignored her, marching steadily up the hill. But he did want to ask…

"Can you… turn into an Elk instead? I want to see what you look like."

"No."

He gave a tiny, sad bugle. His head laying low. "Aw."

"Why does everyone want to see me transform? It's painful, it sucks, and I don't want to. Can we just climb the mountain in peace?" Bastrii complained. "Besides, I can't bring my gear with me when I do. Everything I'm wearing either gets ripped to shreds, or falls off of me. I would have to be naked to give a demonstration."

Midna remembered the first time Link took on the form of a Wolf. If it hadn't been for the generosity of the Ordon light spirit, he would found himself barren. Midna was extra careful to hold his gear for him when he transformed, placing it in the pocket dimension she had access to in Hyrule.

The idea struck her. If she could have just a moment to access Link's belongings, she could withdraw a few potentially useful items. A spring loaded claw mechanism came to mind, which would definitely save time when it came to scaling mountains, or exploring dungeons.

This brought another realization to her mind. What if Link needed any of that? He had his bow, of course – his sword, and his shield. But he didn't have anything else with him.

It all rounded back to her nightmares, the ones she wanted nothing more than to throw away. What would Bastrii do with this kind of stress?

Midna smiled to herself. Bastrii would look forward, shut up, and keep walking. She'll complain later, when there's time to do so.

A stiff breeze rolled across the mountain path. A bend ahead showing a steep decline and a flight leading down to a lower path, before ascending safely along the distant edge. The rock grew sharp and jagged along this part of the mountain, the stairs slowly raising higher, tighter, and steeper – at some points seeming partly like a ladder. Luckily, Braehoof wasn't a horse, and could easily scale these sections. After Bastrii tied down their goods, of course.

The path ahead grew more treacherous, the wind slowly beginning to pick up; the day growing dark from the clouds above.

"So, Braehoof," Midna whispered to the Elk, being certain to keep our out of earshot "When are you going to tell her you like her?"

Midna already knew that when he did get around to it, Bastrii was going to absolutely crush his feelings. All she could do was hope it was sometime after their trip down the mountain, so they'd at least make it safely to the bottom.

"…How? How did you… how did you know?"

Midna smiled. "Come on. Bastrii isn't the best with words, but I took her advice last night. I can see your intentions with her. I mean, I'm disgusted – but absolutely curious, too. Why not chase a cow, or a horse, or a deer – something a little closer to uh… your type? Seriously Antler Boy, you're just going to get yourself hurt."

He shook his head, whispering. "Because I'm a stupid Elk with nothing left. My parents are dead, I have no herd, and all I have left is her. She took me in when I wanted to give up."

Ow. That hurt. Not just the Elk, but Midna's heart, too. Misplaced love was the worst, especially… with… someone you can never be with.

They both looked away from each other, as Midna's thoughts turned to her… companion. Her previous companion. The one she dreamed about, and…

Her heart ached. Except this time, it wasn't for Braehoof.

* * *

Hello everyone! Wow, that got weird, fast! But, I had to make a mirror situation for _more_ character development. I was thinking of having a Khajiit join the party, or maybe a distant character that wouldn't fit Bastrii's type; but then I realized that weird relationships like those are pretty common in Skyrim. Especially considering how you can marry Argonians as any other race, it really made me question how I could push the envelope. How I could make Midna relate to someone on a level she didn't expect.

Then I realized; I had a talking, soul-bound Elk in my party already. One who shared a lot in common with all of the characters. _Why not use him?_ Why not give him a better reason for being there?

I have absolutely no weird intentions to write a lewd scene between the two. This isn't that kind of fiction, I'm afraid. If I did, it would be in a bonus chapter, or a varied ending. And even then, it would not contain MA content, as per request on site administrators. _Curse you creative freedoms, why can't you truly be free?!_

If the pacing is too slow, let me know. The first several days are intended to take a while to build character; any backtracking will be much quicker, especially considering how I could write a whole day in five minutes, or five minutes in a whole day. I like lots of character interaction over lots of progress, so it's just how I write. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

Their journey continued up the mountain side, passing by a few more sparse monuments along the path. Several flags were tied to strewn out poles, marking the spot where a Pilgrim had died and their body had been recovered. The raging clouds above were in full swing, freezing wind solidifying the snow and ice in howling torrents. Midna shivered in her pelts, desperate for a distraction.

"I don't understand," The Imp said, returning to Bastrii's side. "If this place is so dangerous, why do light dwellers come up here?!"

"Many make this journey to see if the Graybeards will allow them entrance into the Monastery. The Graybeards practice the Way of the Voice – or the worship of the Gods through the Thu'um. They use their voice to speak to the heavens, often with jarring effect. I read about this, during a lengthy recovery in Whiterun.

"In the days of the Conquest of Morrowind and the founding of the first empire, the Great Nord Warchiefs were all Tongues. Or masters of the Voice. When they attacked a city, they needed no Siege Engines – they all simply met at the gate, and used their Thu'um to destroy the doors. These were the Men who forged the first empire; and they did it in blood. But, one of the mightiest of Tongues, Jurgen Windcaller I think his name was – converted to a pacifist creed that forbade the use of the voice for fighting.

"His philosophy prevailed, all due to his mastery of the Voice. He could silence those who spoke through a simple utterance, and he did so to seventeen disciples. The descendants of this school rest now, here, at the Throat of the World. Their wisdom is as long as their lives, and with twice the depth – endless pools of Knowledge and teachings of Old.

"If any one knows how to return you home, it would be the Graybeards." She said, giving Midna a reassuring nod. "You can thank the Pocket Guide to the Empire for that bit of history."

One of the many Emblems up the path took the Bosmer's attention. Initially, she resisted the urge to read them – but with how far she's come, she gave in and took a peak. Midna simply floated and blew warm air between her gloved fingers, trying to keep them warm.

"'_Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice. Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue._' Huh. I guess I was wrong. Kyne isn't an Elf, she – or he – must be some kind of Nordic God I haven't heard of."

"I knew you were wrong about that old dagger! That's it – on the way down, I'm reading each and every single one of these stones; Whether I can understand them or not, you're going to tell me what they say."

"You can't read?"

"Not your light dweller scribble, though I'm happy your spells are written in Ancient Runic. It must be a common language between uh… Hyrule, and Nirn. This world is called Nirn, right?"

She nodded, "We're at the half way point. This looks to be Emblem four of eight." She drew her travel hood inwards, trying to obscure her eyes from the falling flakes. "We'll camp on the sixth Emblem. It's going to become more dangerous from here on out – not to mention slow, as the snow grows ever thicker."

"Bastrii." Braehoof called, stepping up to meet them. "I don't think we're alone."

Midna immediately dropped her hands, shivering as flames lit her palms. "Braehoof, please tell me they're f-flammable. Whatever it is. I'll make them into a campfire."

Bastrii slipped the pack off of her back, not making the same mistake twice. Gingerly, she placed it in the back of the cart, much to Braehoof's annoyance. The Elf withdrew her bow, stretching her shoulders. "What's the problem?"

"Up wind of us. A… you call it a Saber Cat." He nodded, feeling his mind abuzz with new information. "And two other scents. Blood, and… something else. Though it's faint."

She knocked an arrow, crouching low. She was half tempted to unhitch the cart, that way her mount could bolt at the first sign of trouble. But frantic fleeing could lead to him tripping, and stumbling down a dozen steps before falling to his doom.

He could see the indecision within her, and he bobbed his head. "I will be fine. My antlers have strength yet. Spring is still months away."

"What does _that_ mean? You plan on getting fat in Spring?" Midna said, floating onto her back with a smile. A mischievous grin forming.

"No. My Antlers fall in Spring, you… Bastrii, what's the word for that creature? The one that looks like an ugly horse? The rude one."

"Ass."

"You are an ass." He said with a smile, eyes perking up. "That is the word. Ass. You are an ass, floating two-leg."

Midna honestly didn't know what an Ass was, but she knew that Epona – Link's horse – was somewhat pretty for a light world creature. And to say there was an ugly, _rude_ variant was definitely an insult.

"Better to be one than to smell like one." She retorted. The Elk glared.

"I smell as natural as the day my Mother brought me the Sun. You smell like a Skunk's den. Do you ever groom yourself?"

"Bastrii, when we run out of meat, we're eating him next."

The Elf groaned. Great. Now their arguments were considerably more vocal than before. Lovely. Exactly what she wanted out of a sentient, talking Elk – competition for the world's biggest _smart _ass trophy.

She crouched down, taking in the air of seriousness she liked to maintain when things were about to become dire. Words mean nothing – it's the intention. She skirted the edge of the rocks in the stirring blizzard, the wind obscuring the sound of her movements.

Midna dropped the argument, slipping in low. She hovered an inch above the ground, trying to mimic the Wood Elf in shape and scurry; Bastrii setting a fine example of a Bosmer's agile step.

The Elf rounded a rock face, the distant shape of a moving mound of white drawing their eyes up along the short cliff face. A heavy bulk seemed to be hunched over another white patch, shuffling in the deep snows above the rocky alcove.

A feeling settled in her gut. She knew it wasn't friendly; its angry shuffling and vicious movements drawing a spurt of crimson onto its hairy coat.

It was a troll. Known for their vitality, this one in particular was well adapted to the cool climate of the Throat of the World. He was hunched over something strong, and most definitely dead. It must have been their Saber Cat.

She hung close to the cliff side, drawing the string back. A stiff wind drew a soft bump to her arm; Midna's head crashing into her. The thump forced her arm to over correct the shot, going wide and to the creature's left.

Bastrii flicked her eyes to her companion. The Imp's gaze responding with a wide eyed stare that nearly spoke the word 'sorry' from its encumbrance. In the distance, the steel arrow pinged off of a rock, shattering to pieces. Her head spun around to spot the troll, but it simply wasn't there.

"… It must have been my imagination." She said, her mind aloof for answers. There's no way a shambling troll could maneuver out of her sight so quickly. Trolls were dumb brutes; as smart as a bag of hammers and damaging as such. Midna hovered a few feet ahead, looking up and around the cliff face.

"What did you see?" She asked, curious. "What were you shooting at?"

"Well, you would have seen if you didn't bump me."

"I wouldn't have bumped you if you didn't stop all of a sudden and fire faster than I can blink! You're even faster than Link with that thing!" She said, gesturing to the bow.

Bastrii looked along the peak, scanning for signs of movement. A few freckles of snow tumbled off the sheer rock to her right.

Her heart nearly skipped a beat, her eyes widening. she looked between the leaping troll and her distracted companion, thoughts racing for a reaction. Midna was just out of reach, and would never obey in time to dodge. Even if she called out the beast, she would be crushed before she could argue.

Her bow twitched upwards, firing a panic shot. Midna's gaze shifted to the direction, her breath catching in her throat as the troll plummeted down straight for her. Her first reaction was to reach for the magic within her Fused Shadow – the one she abandoned to the saddlebag long ago due to the cold.

The arrow sailed past the troll, the hurried shot missing. It embedded into the distant rock, all of this taking place in the course of mere seconds.

Out of options, she only had one choice – the troll less than several feet from murdering her companion.

"_Fus!_"

The shock wave knocked Midna out of the air, throwing her hood off as she landed in the snow half a dozen feet away. The troll collided with the ground, grunting in exertion as it looked between its two targets.

Tiny morsel, or large Elf.

It charged for Bastrii, roaring in ire over its failed ambush. Blood had soaked its maw from its previous Saber-Toothed prey, its hands and legs pulling its ape-like body through the deep snow with ease. Hollering, it leaped for Bastrii, the Bosmer bashing it with her bow. The punch landed right in its nose, making him flinch.

But it wasn't enough. Bastrii had only just begun to disengage before it lunged again, propelling itself with its mighty arms to collide with its new target. The Elf gasped, her bow snapping in half between her chest and the beast as it smothered her with its bulk.

He weighed at least eight hundred pounds, easy – and his massive heft crushed the girl's torso into the cushioned snow, compacting it beneath her. She heard several sickening cracks and pops, her arms useless from this angle. It roared into her face, Bastrii struggling for air.

Her acute vision began to grow dark when its hands darted around her head. It grabbed a hold of her skull, pulling her face towards its hungry maw. She pulled back, her senses failing her – the adrenaline not enough to escape those teeth as it grew closer. Her mind went hazy, the world turning silent.

This was it. Face eaten by a troll. Ribs probably shattered, she would be another red flag on the path up the world's tallest mountain. Her eyes slid shut, not enough fight in her to throw off her winning opponent.

And suddenly, the weight on her chest was gone. She gasped for life giving oxygen, her ears snapping back to the reality of the moment. She heard a growl and a yelp, struggling to make it to her feet as lights danced in her vision.

She leaned up to her elbows, looking on to the battle before her. Braehoof had freed himself of the wagon – his massive antlers impaled on the chest of the troll as he rammed it into the nearby rock face. The troll – struggling for balance – wasn't going down so easily. Midna floated nearby, her eyes closed shut as flames spiraled around her clenched fists.

The Troll rammed a sickening right hook into the Elk's jaw, knocking him to the floor with a crack. The sound of crushed snow met Bastrii's ears, a small jolt of physical pain echoing in her body from the blow.

Midna's eyes snapped open, her hair standing on end with the fizzling magic. Her very essence seemed to burn with a fiery heat, emanating off of her in waves. She drew her hands together, growling through her angry breath.

_"Ignis… rapti sunt!" _She yelled, a literal wave of fire coupled with a powerful orb of magma slammed into the creature's exposed face, melting it off in an instant. A trail of flames burst through the snow, leading up to the dead troll's corpse. A pyre funeral followed the ordeal, the creature's body slumping onto its back.

Midna fell into the snow with a groan. The powdery white melting around her smoldering body. After a few seconds, her hand raised up – thumb held high. The universal sign of, "I'm okay" sent to her friends. Well, any of the conscious ones, at least.

"I'm not cold anymore." She said, rolling around in the refreshing chilly blanket.

Bastrii struggled to her feet, staggering toward the Elk's side. She took in his battered form – his crushed jaw, undoubtedly broken. A death sentence for most without proper care. Collapsing by his head, she adapted a hands-on approach.

Her digits wrapped around his jaw, feeling the shattered bone beneath it. The Bosmer's heart immediately went out to her friend, eyes knitting with worry. She ran a hand along his neck, scooting forward to lay the Elk's head in her lap.

His muzzle faced her, as she lifted her hands above his broken jaw.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"_Take the breath of earth into your body. __Sanitatem Manibus."_

Her voice came as a quiet whisper, channeling the archaic power through her palms. Golden beads flowed freely from her hand, and into the unconscious Cervine. Her eyes sliding shut, she felt her essence flow into Braehoof; his fractured bone cracking in several spots, the blood pooling from his maw coming to an abrupt halt. The bones realigned and set, mending together.

She struggled for air, first came the fatigue – then the burning. Her willpower fighting against the screaming fibers of her body to stop, to let the magic go. Her own ribs bursting with pain, as if the simple thought of magic made them shatter to pieces within her.

She tasted blood, the crimson substance leaking from her nose as his jaw clicked back into place, fully healed.

Her concentration slipped, the spell ending. Vertigo took her, and she coughed up a thick clot to her side. It soaked into the white powder, her nose leaking the crimson substance down her cheeks. It wasn't that healing caused a nose bleed, rather her breathing was the issue.

Midna floated to her side, holding two snow balls in her bare hands.

"You heal Braehoof, but you don't heal my burns? Wow, thanks." She said, in pain. "I killed the thing. Don't I get a little affection?"

She hovered down to Bastrii, who didn't move. Looking her over.

"By Din's Fire, you look as if you've seen a ghost."

Bastrii toppled into the powdery cold.

"I guess that means we're camping early tonight, huh?"

She dropped a half melted snowball on Bastrii's face. No response.

"I'll take that as a yes. Oh, and looks like I'm the only one awake to do it. Thanks Bastrii! Big help tonight, wonderful. Couldn't have set up camp without you." Midna groaned, floating down the path to retrieve their belongings.

Braehoof's eyes soon fluttered open, before darting across the clearing in panic. He raised his head, his gaze settling on the fallen corpse of the troll. The embers clung to its fur, the smell of burnt flesh scorching his nostrils. Snorting, he slowly stood to his feet – searching desperately for his family.

"Bastrii? Bastrii?!" He called, spinning around on his legs. Only the dim light of the sun and the call of the wind greeted his senses; night fast approaching. Panic began to settle inside of him, and he called again.

"Bastrii, where are you!" He shouted, his voice cracking into a familiar bugle. Timidly, a hand reached up from the snow to his right, and he immediately darted for it.

Hidden in a small mound, on crushed ice, rested the shaking form of the Elf. He immediately pressed his head in past the chilly prison, nuzzling her cheek.

Her arm fell limp. No further response.

He maneuvered in close, drawing his body against hers. Using his antlers, he nudged the broken Elf onto his back. She didn't move – only continued to shiver intensely in the bitter cold.

He turned his nose to the wind, sniffing for any signs of life. Where did Midna go? Did she find the cart? Hopefully it didn't roll too far when he tore the straps from himself.

Smoke. The scent of fire came to him from deeper into the pass, and he stampeded forward. Eager to find shelter for his small herd.

Deeper along the small valley, an alcove had formed in a crevice. Bones were strewn about at its entrance, and smelled strongly of troll. But flame broiled within, and he approached the entrance cautiously.

Midna threw a fresh log into the fire, no more than three as Bastrii had done the night before. Her hands sizzled and burned, but she paid little mind to it as she cast another wave of flames to the still-catching logs. The cave was barren of all else; save for a few skulls that the Imp had cleared.

Braehoof brought the injured Elf inside, noticing the familiar stone hat upon Midna's head yet again. He winced, remembering that he dropped the saddlebags well back along the edge of the pass, along with the treasured helm.

"Took you long enough." She glared, kicking her legs up before her. Floating an inch off the ground with her arms crossed. "You're lucky the wagon only rolled down a dozen steps before toppling. If you would have lost my Fused Shadow, you would honestly be joining that Troll past the veil of dusk."

He paid her no mind, instead he brought Bastrii's unconscious form to the floor with a soft shove. He nuzzled at her cheek, keeping her by the warm fire side as the wind howled beyond the rock face.

He stood up, turning back towards the path.

"Hey! Where are you going, Antler Boy! I wasn't done scolding you!" She shouted, gritting her teeth. No one walks away from her anger unscathed!

His ears flicked, but he didn't listen. He charged forward into the snow and ice, heading down along the steps – around the corner, and out of sight through the hazy blizzard.

Midna picked up another snowball between her hands, letting it treat her scorched skin.

"Great. Now he ran off. Shows how much he cared. I guess it's just you and me again, huh, sleepy head?" She sighed. The Imp looked over Bastrii, who seemed mostly fine – except for her shallow breathing.

But there was no blood on her body, if she _was_ injured. Excluding a bit on her lip and from her nose, of course. There was honestly nothing she could do to help. She didn't know any healing magic – and even if she did, she doubt she could cast it. Twili and light magic don't go well together. She's more suited for destroying than for creating. A sad note she dwelled on more often than she liked.

Several minutes passed; Her eyes fighting between the unconscious Bosmer, and the glowing flame. That's when she realized – what happened to the Elf's bow?

"Don't tell me you lost it." She said, to no one in particular. "I thought you were my guide – my escort. I can't do all of the fighting! My shadow catalyst isn't even strong enough to lift you right now, much less swing a sword."

Of course, Bastrii said nothing. She only slept. And slept, and slept…

Midna's stomach growled. It must be well past noon now, and she was definitely craving something to snack on. She thought about floating down the mountain to retrieve one of the bags – but her muscles burned fiercely at the thought. Every fiber of her being fought against her movements, demanding rest. It wasn't like she'd find them, anyway – some toppled down the sheer side of the slope, far out of reach for her at the moment.

"Stupid light world magic… shadow spells are painless to cast. You all could really learn something from the Twili, instead of killing yourselves for fancy pyrotechnics."

Another hour had passed since Braehoof left, and by now, Midna had given up on him. He probably abandoned them. He most likely felt sick of being used as mule for luggage, and ran off to the wilds. Who could blame him? It wasn't like they were paying him for his help, or offering him anything more than a bit of food and comfort.

Midna sighed. One day up, or one day down. Better decide which is more important – recovering a finding more supplies, or reaching the Graybeards.

She somehow felt that three days to scale one of this world's tallest mountains was a bit… short. Then again, not all of the world could have been explored by now – could it? Maybe there were taller mountains on another coast, and no one bothered to measure. And their pace was rather intense – Bastrii didn't stop walking until dusk, besides maybe a few short rest stops here and there.

But – this mountain wasn't exceedingly wide. It was a lone peak, but a tall one at that. Maybe this 'High Hrothgar' place wasn't even at the very top? It could definitely be halfway there, considering there was a dedicated road reaching to it.

Midna's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crunching snow. Her eyes flicked to the path, spotting a white-covered Braehoof. He seemed to be struggling, pulling the cart with his teeth. It was missing a wheel.

"Braehoof?!" She called, her exhaustion forgotten for the moment as she floated out to meet him. He grunted, tugging at the leather straps. The front catching on the dense powder, making it a struggle to move.

Midna's Shadow-Arm reached forward, gritting her teeth and lifting the dragging side up. The Elk grunted in thanks, quickly shuffling into the chilly grotto. A small fire could only do so much to keep them warm.

They both dropped the damaged wagon near the back end of the cave, Midna looking over the supplies with a serious eye. Her other iris obscured by her stone helm.

"It looks like you didn't just bring the cart – you found everything. Every log, every pack – you… you did good work, Braehoof." She said, reaching up to pet him. It was an awkward touch, but one he graciously accepted.

"She is really hurt. I can feel it – I need your help fixing her." The Elk said, nipping the Elf's bag from the supplies. He set it down with a soft thump, the wooden supports on the back broken and the exterior covered in snow and dirt. "Bastrii was given a few potions from the healer back at… Arrowflash Pass. She needs the red one, but… I can't tell which is which."

He fumbled with the bag's flap throughout his orders, bumbling with the words occasionally – but making few mistakes otherwise. Eventually, he gave up, unable to open the simple bag with just his teeth. Midna took the lead from there, easily undoing the strap as she searched deep inside.

Wrapped up in tight bundles, she withdrew three potions. A green, a blue, and a red – small, but weighty. She uncorked the red one, and she was about to force it down Bastrii's throat – when Braehoof stopped her.

"Check her mouth first. There's blood." He nuzzled at his rider's cheek, dried crimson the only color present.

"And what am I going to do about the blood? Turn her over and make her spit it out? Slap her awake and tell her to swallow?"

"Water. Rinse it out with water." He dug into his own saddlebags with his snout, withdrawing the large, fur-wrapped canteen. He held it by a strap, Midna grabbing the large cup-lid and filling it. Her hand gently lowered Bastrii's sharp jaw, exposing the bloody teeth and red tongue.

Braehoof used his chin to raise her head up, Midna splashing the water into the sanguine orifice. Of course, the sloppy gesture made a mess, spilling across her once clean jerkin. But it was considerably less gory than before, and she comfortably fed her the potion.

"I don't get it. Why clean her mouth out? Why not just swallow the blood?"

Braehoof had to think. The answer came to him from his companion's knowledge of healing, after several seconds. "If she swallows too much blood, she could get sick and throw up. We have to be careful not to waste this potion, they're very rare."

Midna frowned, rolling her eyes. "She's just tired after healing _you,_ not me. I don't see why we should waste it now. I should be the one taking it, considering how my hands are still, you know, _burnt_."

Braehoof shook his head. "She can't breathe well. It hurts." He pressed his nose to her chest, where the troll had pinned her down. Bastrii's body tensed from the pain, but otherwise, she didn't move.

Midna grabbed at the skirt of the long gambeson, dragging it upwards. It couldn't be that bad, could it? She looked fine, maybe a little pale. It's not like her chest was caved in!

She stopped at the breast, grimacing from the sight. Bastrii's entire torso was covered in splotchy red bruising – which would have fine, if four misshapen lumps didn't line either side of her chest. The bones clearly broken to varying degrees.

It explained why her breathing was so frail. One of her ribs had probably slipped and penetrated a lung, leaving her coughing up her life giving fluid.

She took the potion again, tipping it back into the Elf's maw. Hoping most of it was going down the right pipe, of course – she wasn't an expert. When Braehoof didn't complain about her amateur work, she assumed she did a good job. Midna lowered the green tunic, the chain mail, and the gambeson back down – unwilling to strip her with this much damage.

With nothing else to do, she sat on her knees and watched. And waited. And waited…

Braehoof had the right idea to withdraw the bedroll for Bastrii, gently moving her with his head to rest on it. The Elf didn't complain in her sleep – only laid there. And slept. And slept…

Midna was getting bored of the waiting already. It was just like all of those times Link was injured. How he would complain for a rest, clutching at a new wound that slipped past his chain mail. He demanded time for it to heal, for his wounds to mend naturally – and she didn't want to burn the time.

She would tell him to keep moving. Get up, and keep working. No breaks. No rest. Fight or die. And her words left him dying more often than not.

She cupped her head into her hands, hiding her exposed eye. The guilt wracked her body – if she had given him a little more time to recover after their run in with that giant eel, maybe he would have been able to fight off Zant back at the Lanayru Spring.

The Lanayru Spring… that's where it happened. That's when Zant used his foul magic to banish her not just from the Twilight, but from Hyrule itself.

How?

Before her mind could stir further inklings from the past, Bastrii twitched. Braehoof immediately pressed his nose to her shoulder, tilting her head to her side. She coughed and sputtered, thick, crimson clots coating the ground. Her body wracking with the pain, even in her unconscious state.

When the moment was over, Braehoof let her rest on the bedroll once again. He sat desperately close to her side, sharing his heat with her. He curled up around her, resting his head against hers in the light crackling of the fire.

Midna reached forward, gently raising Bastrii's armor up off of her chest again. Inspecting the damage once more, to see if the potion had did anything to benefit her.

The bruises had faded, the bones having mostly returned to their proper spots along her chest. It must have been over an hour since she took the potion, though Midna hoped it was enough to cure her.

She hefted the red bottle. It was completely empty, save several drops along the bottom. Most of the brew was in Bastrii – the last few drops could suffice as something to numb her own pain.

She filled the lid of the canteen with another cup, pouring it into the bottle. The Imp corked it, shaking hard for a moment.

Gently, she poured the water on her hands. Sighing as the cool liquid ran over her burns, the pain numbing instantly.

"That's better..." She said to herself, saving half of the bottle for another dose. Setting it down on the floor, she looked over the green and blue mixtures.

"What are these for?" She said, swishing the concoctions around in their containers. She uncorked the blue one, giving it a sniff. It forced a grimace from the Imp, the potent stench quickly tucked away behind the lid once more.

"The green potion is for…" He thought about it, looking for the words. "The green is for running, and fighting. It makes you strong again. The blue… It's for magic. It helps after casting magic."

He found the concept hard to explain. He was still learning the language, and finding it exceedingly difficult. Why couldn't they just… communicate through a few sounds? Like squeals, barks, or mewls – as Elks do? Or, as he was fond of – bugling.

Midna swished the blue potion around, wondering. "So this will make me feel better after using magic, huh?"

"Yes. It's… uncommon." He nodded. "Use it sparingly. Bastrii will need it, too. Healing magic hurts."

Midna took a swig of the blue poultice, grimacing at the sharp flavor. It tingled on the way down, like tiny spiders were dancing in her throat. But her body seemed to ease as a result.

She stored the bottle away, and waited. And waited… and waited. While Bastrii slept. Slept slept slept… Midna added another log to the fire, Braehoof occasionally tilting Bastrii to her side so she could cough up blood. Each time, less came out, and soon, her throat was clear, and her breathing was normal.

Eventually, the small Elf slowly started to come to. Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting the intelligent Elk's sight.

He smiled, and gave her an affectionate nuzzle. "Good evening, Bastrii." He said, Midna stirring from her gentle doze nearby.

The Elf's hand slowly reached out, petting Braehoof on the head. He chirped to the touch, a new sound she hadn't heard before. He leaned in, enjoying the moment before Midna could ruin it.

"You're finally awake!" She shouted, floating over to her side. "Have fun with that giant monkey back there?"

The Elf leaned forward, gingerly hugging her own chest. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

"Water, please." She said, almost in a whisper. Midna obliged, withdrawing the large canteen from earlier. A cup was soon laced between her fingers, the damaged woman nursing her drink.

"What happened?"

"Well, you were pinned by that giant monkey, so I blasted him with fire. My first few spells barely seemed to phase him, and its wounds began to regenerate faster than I could torch him. That's when Braehoof charged up the path, and knocked him off of you. It gave me just enough time to just… make up a spell, on the fly. Since it wasn't a proper incantation, it really burnt me up." She showed her hands, forcing a grimace from Bastrii.

The Elk adjusted his pose, so that Bastrii could lean against him fully. He smiled, resting his head on her lap.

The warm embrace of her mount, coupled with the fire burning steadily before her, drove away the last of her shivers. Her free hand began to stroke and massage his neck, kneading away all of the work he's done for her.

"How did you get the cart in here?"

"Braehoof did it all. He went out and gathered everything, I simply reclaimed my Helm and pieced together a fire. Speaking of fire…"

Midna offered her hands. "Will you heal me? I didn't have a health potion, like you."

Bastrii set the cup down, raising her limp arms. Her eyes slid shut. Breathe in, breathe out…

"_Sanitatem Manibus."_ She whispered, a few flickering beads of gold rushing from her, to her companion. Midna watched the burns recede and heal over before her very eyes, Bastrii slumping against Braehoof's neck.

The Imp frowned, but relented. Her hands still stung, and several splotches of skin were discolored. But the pain had stopped. In its place was a dull throbbing.

Braehoof worriedly pressed his nose against Bastrii's chest, doing his best to avoid clipping her with his antlers. She began to drift off again, the Elk speaking through the connection of their soul.

"_Please don't leave me again._" He pleaded to her mind, before she could fall back into the void.

"_I won't."_

"_Promise?"_ He asked, her inner voice distant.

"_Promise…"_

* * *

Hrrrrgh... Midna, I'm trying to sneak around. But your head is dummy thicc, and the clap of your skull against my shoulder keeps making me miss my shots. Funnily enough, when I did this section of the game, I had Inigo (a mod companion) with me. And when I went to shoot the troll, he bumped into me and I missed.

Notes: Readjusting the positions of the Emblems (monuments), and I'm shuffling the mountain around to be longer. Next section of the journey will be faster, for sure - I'll have them leave early and make up for the lost time.

Now if only I don't have to work another double shift! It's driving me to stress eat, and it's slowing down my progress. Bleh! I'm going to be adding elements soon to cut out back tracking, it's just going to take time to reach this point. Additionally, I went over this a bit more than usual - but I know for a fact I still made plenty of mistakes, as I do with all chapters. Please point out any you see in the comments, it would help a bunch! Thanks!


	11. Chapter 11

Bastrii's eyes flicked open in the early morning dawn, finding herself covered with a spare blanket from her saddlebag. She looked around the alcove, confused; Where was Midna? Braehoof?

Sitting up, the fire had turned to coarse embers in the pit. The cook pot was to the side, the lid covering whatever contents it may hold. Everything else was packed up and put away, the cart repaired.

Bastrii placed her arms on the blankets, readying herself to stand. Her hand caught on wood, confusing her as she picked it up. It was her bow; broken into two pieces. The string was wrapped around it, the Elf sighing.

Making it to her feet, she checked herself over. No present injuries, clear breathing – she felt cured, though very drained. Like she had climbed the mountain three times over, and had only just took her first rest. A soft tinkling of glass on stone caught her ear, the Elf stooping over to pick up the vial her foot tapped.

A small, blue potion. The same one she received from Therrjo, at the Stormcloak Camp near Falkreath. She gave it a little shake, happy to find it mostly full. Besides a sip or two, of course.

"This journey is driving me to drink." Bastrii mumbled, tipping the bottle back. She grimaced at the taste, the shocking sensation perking her up. With time, her body could recover from channeling her healing spells. But for now, this would have to do.

Shuffling over to the pot, the Elf plucked the lid. Cold soup rested at the bottom, enough left for a single bowl. She covered it up and returned it to the coals, bewildered. Midna couldn't cook, could she?

A small log joined the ashes, as she packed up the blankets and bedroll. Best not to linger more than her welcome. She stirred the concoction in the pot, her nose twitching. It didn't smell… right.

Soon, she was holding the bowl of – what might have been – soup, looking around the misshapen lumps of vegetables inside. It didn't smell foul, but it reeked of burnt fond. Cautiously, she took a spoon to her mouth.

If the salt didn't make her gag, the nearly jello like consistency and burnt, crunchy, chewy taste did. She immediately let her mouth fall open, letting the contents of it fall into the bowl with a plop.

She pulled out a carrot with her spoon. Did… did she even have carrots in her supplies?

Instead of gorging on what would probably kill her, she returned to the feed bag and was absolutely delighted to find no bite marks in the loaf of bread from before. She cut a few slices, retrieved some cheese, and made a rather depressing sandwich of it before cleaning her pot out.

"By Y'ffre's oldest branches, how can there be so much burnt to the bottom?" She questioned, having spent the last several minutes scraping it out with a smooth rock. Her job complete, she returned her wares. Just in time, too – the sound of hooves caught her ears, the sun eclipsing the horizon.

Braehoof slipped into the alcove, the wailing blizzard outside quiet for a change. Instead, small flakes of white gently showered the path outside, her smaller companion resting on the Elk's barrel.

"Good morning, Dragonbird! How was the nap?" She said, giving a yawn. Braehoof stepped over to her, gently rubbing his nose against her neck. Bastrii couldn't help but smile – he was so much more affectionate now. His eyes absolutely brimmed with intelligence, their bond nearly granting him all of her wisdom.

He spoke clearly, and with no stuttering. "The dawn is crisp and the winds have settled. We've scouted the path ahead, as well. It's smoother, but the steps grow ever taller. And we are closer than ever before! I can feel it in my hooves."

Nearly every time Braehoof's mind grew, it always seemed to dumbfound her. At first, he could only communicate in emotion, and through direct contact. Eventually, it evolved and he could speak to her mind directly. Then he evolved again, and he could speak a few scant words vocally, then sentences. And now? It's like he found a dictionary, read it, then suggested a revision to the author.

Needless to say, Bastrii was fond of this change. She pressed her forehead to his own, resting a hand on his neck. He leaned in, embracing it.

"Alright you two, moment is over. Break it up, break it up – we need to move." She flew up into the air a few inches, before faltering and slumping back over Braehoof's torso. Midna clicked her tongue, settling herself back onto the Elk's shoulders.

"Are you okay, Midna?" Bastrii asked. She wasn't overly concerned about the Imp – but it was necessary to ask. She _did_ save her life, after all.

"I'm fine. Just a few aches and pains from yesterday." She took her helmet off, holding the stone to her chest. "Will you put this away for me? It's a bit heavier than I remember."

Midna passed the Fused Shadow to Bastrii, who stuffed it away into the safety of the saddlebags. The Elf looked her companion over, frowning. Her usual complexion had faltered over this journey. Once fair faced, her eyes had heavy bags beneath them. She looked tired. Her hair, usually maintained in a ponytail bound by a small metal chain, slid free of the binding and feel loosely over her cheeks.

Her crafted leather clothes had burns across the entirety of it, stains of blood and dirt clashing against the black marks. Before she could continue her inspection, the Imp drew her hood over her head and tightened the cord, glaring at her from behind the veil.

"Stop staring and let's keep moving." She said, though without malice. Braehoof threw a careful eye to the Twili on his back, before turning back to face Bastrii. His voice rang clearly in her mind.

"_She's pushing herself too hard,_" He said, "_but she refused to rest this morning. She fretted over you all night, you know."_

Bastrii turned back to her work, Midna moving out of the way as Bastrii placed the saddle on his back. "_Why? Was she waiting for me to wake up to heal her again? I couldn't finish the job last night."_

"_No. She wanted to make sure you were alright. I couldn't convince her to sleep. I woke up, and she was still staring – so I asked her to join me in my patrol."_ Braehoof tightened the strap of the saddle with his teeth, the large travel bags joining his flanks on either side.

Bastrii didn't respond, only work on attaching the cart to his companion's back.

"Midna, thank you for making breakfast. It means a lot." The Elf said, tying the wooden arms of the cart to the saddle.

"It's not like I wanted to. _You_ slept all night! What else was I going to do?" She barked defensively, her eyes glaring at Bastrii from beneath her hood. Bastrii was taken aback by the sudden aggression, her ears perking at her words.

"I was just thanking you, Midna." She said, trying to calm her down. But she didn't respond, only glare though the ring of her hood.

Eventually, they were on the road once more – Bastrii leading her Elk companion onwards as the Imp slumped tiredly on his back. She didn't speak, only remained in her stony silence.

"_What's wrong with her?"_ Bastrii asked Braehoof through their connection, the snow trickling across their forms.

"_She wouldn't tell me much this morning. But… I think she's afraid."_

_ "What makes you say that? She looks more pissed off than anything. Then again, she's always like this, so I don't see the big deal." _The Elf kept her eyes ahead, waiting for his response.

"_I don't understand it too well, but… maybe it's best to just leave things be." _He thought with her, climbing another flight of steps. "_Anymore stress and I think she's going to snap and hurt herself."_

"_You're right. It's not been very easy."_ They cleared another monument in no time – the wind picking up over the distant steps.

"'_Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their voice too was strong; Although their sacrifices were many-fold.' _Alduin. You know, I wouldn't be in this mess at all if Alduin hadn't made the mistake of destroying Helgen."

"Where would you be, then?" Midna asked quietly, her head sagging from exhaustion.

"Dead. Alduin is a very powerful, towering dragon – he crash landed on a tower in Helgen, knocking the executioner over and giving me just enough time to escape with the Stormcloaks. Because he razed that town, I survived."

Bastrii took a look over the distant landscape, the trio hanging at least three miles above the world below. The air felt a bit thin, but breathable. Wood Elves aren't afraid of heights – but her half Nordic blood had a bit of trepidation when peering over a cliff like this. A few steps to the left, and you would plummet to the scraggy rocks below.

Regardless of this knowledge, the beauty of the landscape beyond shined. From this very spot, you can just barely make out the sight of the great city of Windhelm resting on the far, far coast. Its mighty walls a tiny fragment of the bigger picture. The trees were far and many; the cooler climate of the northern hold limiting the life to firs and wintry shrubbery. Lakes and rivers dotted the land in gentle glimmers.

At a glance, the world seemed so very peaceful. The war, the dragons – they were but a distraction to this sight.

Braehoof gave Bastrii's shoulder a gentle nuzzle, flicking his head towards Midna. She was fast asleep. Bastrii sighed, reaching into the saddlebag and withdrawing the still warm blanket from before. She draped it over the Imp, making extra sure to tuck her in and keep her safe.

"We're going to make it there, tonight. It will be late, but we'll make it past sunset."

They trekked upwards and onwards, many more miles left to scale as another cloud settled on the peaks. The storm slowly returned, and the world grew dim around them. Regardless, they pushed on – eager to end their journey.

"Bastrii?" Braehoof spoke, keeping quiet even as the wind wrapped around them. The Elf's ear perked – a habit she picked up from her Elk companion.

"Yes?" She asked, as Braehoof searched for the words.

He wanted to tell her how he felt. It was a bittersweet feeling; by now, he knew rejection was imminent. But if there's one piece of Bastrii he absorbed, it was determination. He knew it was going to hurt him, he knew she would just say no.

The sentences strung together in his mind, but while he was determined to speak it, his skittish instinct made him swallow his tongue.

"I uh… nothing. Just wanted to know how you're feeling. All better?"

Bastrii smiled, scratching behind his ears. "Of course! I don't recall what really happened, though. It all seems to have come together in a blur… I remember healing you, then passing out. Beyond that, nothing."

"The troll crushed crushed your ribs, breaking them several times over. If our connection hadn't become so… _deep_, I wouldn't have been able to tell you were injured. You just looked peaceful, when you were unconscious. When we lifted your armor, I… it made me worry." He nuzzled her again. He really did like the short touches. They were comforting.

"But I feel fine. Well, not completely fine – but that's beyond the point."

"We used the healing potion Therrjo gave you, from Arrowflash Pass. I told Midna where to find it. I've been seeing your more recent memories in my head, lately – it started just the other day. Otherwise, you would have perished and… I don't want to be alone again. Do you remember your promise?" The Elk hung his head on her shoulder.

Bastrii idly stroked the bridge of his nose, nodding. "I remember hearing your voice last night. Like something out of a dream. I promised not to leave you… right?"

He nodded. "I hope you keep that promise. I can't see your knowledge on our connection, but I know that you dying would hurt me immensely. In more ways than one."

The Elf gave a determined smile. "I don't plan on it. Besides, I've got more than one promise to keep – I don't plan on leaving this world unattended. I still have to bring Midna home, and I have to vanquish the Thalmor and Imperials. The chaos they've caused has gone on long enough."

Her hand dropped from his muzzle, picking up the pace again. Midna snored quietly on his back, as they continued upwards in the gentle snow and harsh breeze.

"'_With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst Dragons withdrew from the world.'_" Bastrii red the sixth Emblem aloud, the hours trickling by. "Two more, and the Temple should be beyond the end."

"I hope they have a stable… Or, if they don't mind sharing, a bed. I would love to try one; I've seen them in your memories. Some look rather comfy, minus the occasional Cervine pelt haunting them."

Bastrii felt unsettled, realizing that a lot of the leather in this world came from his species. "How does that make you feel?"

"Worried for my distant kin, and a bit cautious. But otherwise, I can tolerate it. I've seen much worse in the wilds. I watched Wolves pick my mother apart before my very eyes, when I was nothing more than a calf. I couldn't do anything but watch as she brayed and whined for me to flee."

He hung his head low, sighing. "I've been thinking. When I saw two-legs running in the wilds, exploring caves and killing animals… the few who live on the roads, do they not have a home? Are they lost, too?"

"What do you mean?" Bastrii asked, a rather steep step nearly making her slip on the ice.

"Well, like you. Your parents both perished, and you don't have a home… do all who wander… are they lost?"

"Most adventurers don't leave home unless if there's no home to leave. Nirn is a dangerous place; it's safer with a roof over your head. The few who do scavenge and hunt are often trying to establish themselves in the wild, or have little left to lose. Most people turn to banditry when all is lost; they kill and rob to sustain themselves not out of hatred for others. But for hatred for the life they have left.

"My mother used to say that people aren't innately evil; even the most wicked have a heart that they share with those they love. When they have no one to love, then all that's left is to love themselves. To be selfish. When there's nothing worth fighting for, you're left to fight for yourself."

She withdrew her own small water skin, taking a sip. "When you fight for yourself, you often put yourself against everyone to do it. I guess that's why I'm giving up a bit of my time, money, and supplies to return Midna home. It gives me someone else to focus on, other than _me_, and stops me from becoming depressed.

Braehoof thought on it for a while, nodding. "You're very wise, but I wouldn't expect less from a thirty five year old women."

"And how old are you, Braehoof?"

He blushed beneath his coat, hiding his head beneath his antlers. "Well, I mean… for an Elk, I'm a full grown adult."

"And how old do Elks live to be, without magic?"

He shuffled his cloven hooves, sighing. "Well, fifteen winters, usually."

"So you're probably around the age of four or five, right?"

"…Yes. I haven't been on this world very long. But it doesn't mean I'm not mature. I'm five years old."

Bastrii giggled quietly to herself. "For a five year old, you're pretty wise yourself. Though I think that has to do with our connection."

"I'm not even going to lie. I was very, _very_ stupid not more than three days ago. I mean, I couldn't write a book, but I'm starting to read your language as well. It's odd, hearing one's own voice in their head. It's… _exhilarating_. And these new words make _communication_ so much easier." He emphasized the complex speech, happy to speak clearly and freely. "I would love to find a way to… _scribe_ a _novel_."

"Okay, you're pushing it now. That's a bit on the nose, don't you think? The Wild joining man and writing a book about it. That's pushing the limits of sanity, if you ask me." She laughed, the Elk bugling quietly in defeat.

"It would be an _exceptional, extravagant, influential, conversationally riotous, culture changing novel_, if you ask me." He grinned, using nearly all of his dictionary in a single sentence. Something about speaking so fluently really lit the nerves in his body.

"When were you born, Braehoof?" She smiled mischievously, her hand catching on a stone railing, the steep ramp ahead a challenge for the cart. She hoped Midna wouldn't fall from the incline.

"I would never know the exact date, but I'm assuming my mother brought me the Sun in Second Seed, before the Midyear." He smiled. He even knew the calendar! He felt so enriched.

"Alright. I'll see about getting you a dictionary _and_ thesaurus before then, for your Seedling Celebration." She smiled, referring to the Bosmer name for Birthday.

The conversation died out again – the seventh monument coming up as the day began to wane. Braehoof took the charge, reading the Emblem aloud.

"Ahem… '_The Tongues at Red Moun… Mountain' - _right?" He looked to Bastrii for confirmation. She smiled and nodded, and the Elk continued.

"'_The Tongues at Red Mountain went away… humbled; Jurgen'…_ Er… I think it says Wind. Oh! Windcaller! '_Jurgen Windcaller began his Seven Year medi… med… meditation; To understand how Strong Voices could fail.'_"

He beamed up at the Elf, the Bosmer feeling the pride radiating off of him in waves.

"Well done!" She scratched behind his ears, the Elk braying softly in response. He stepped in closer, beaming.

Their pace continued; a steady walk up the tight slopes across the mountain. Nearly every step was pointed upwards by now, the white powder piling higher around the group. Midna's eyes fluttered open, the Imp sitting up on the saddle. She still looked worn out, but at least the bags under her eyes weren't as heavy as before.

Yawning, she slowly floated off of Braehoof's back, joining Bastrii's side once again.

"Sleep well?" Bastrii asked.

For once, Midna shook her head 'no', but didn't let on why. Her eyes seemed to take a peculiar interest in the ground today, the usual mirth missing.

Bastrii poked her for more information, but the Imp seemed content on being silent from her endeavors.

"Come on, Midna – you can speak with me." She said, climbing another slope.

"I don't want to talk about it."

The Elf sighed. Snappy and rude, now sad and demoralized? Which emotions will she swing through by dinner, she wondered. Maybe it was a Hyrule thing.

To her surprise, she continued. "I'm sorry."

"Hm?" Bastrii perked a brow, curious. What did she have to be sorry for?

"My attitude. Just… everything. I'm not helping by being distant and selfish. I'm trying not to be, but… it's a habit. One I forced on myself a long time ago. The way I treated everyone so far – I… I don't deserve the help I've been given."

She didn't look up, but went silent again. Bastrii gently placed her hand on her shoulder.

"I know the feeling of being torn away from home, Midna." She offered, her smile returning. "I've made a lot of mistakes, too, you forget. Ever since we've started this quest, you've probably been kicking yourself a lot, huh?"

The Imp nodded beneath her hood, sighing into the fluttering wind.

"I nearly killed myself by overdoing it a few times, too. When my father died and my home in Valenwood was lost, I struggled with grief and guilt. I pushed myself to journey up here, to Skyrim, alone. To at least honor my mother one more time before I passed. I honestly believed that I wouldn't make it another day afterwords, so I stopped taking care of myself."

They cleared another red flag, a cold reminder of the lives lost on one of the world's tallest mountains.

"I pushed myself so hard to make it through Cyrodil, just to reach the border of Skyrim. If I hadn't landed in the care of a healer in Bruma after a muddy rock slide, I would have perished on those hills. My body was so worn down, that I couldn't even stand for two weeks. I just never slept. I walked, and walked… if it weren't for the generosity of others, I wouldn't have made it here today.

"But I wasn't thankful. I felt like their time was wasted on me. I wasn't worth the effort or energy. I had nearly forgotten who I was and what I was doing – I was content with just letting all of my knowledge and skills fade as I sunk into those pillows and out of this world, night after night.

"It took me a while to realize that I'm the one in charge of my destiny. I write my own story, and by sitting there, I was going to let the Ink run dry. I had to get out of bed, and put myself back together – or I would become some poor beggar on the street. That gave me the strength to make it here, to Skyrim. I decided on my mother's grave that I would avenge my father, and fight the dominion at every turn. I was going to return to Valenwood, but you know what happened from there."

Midna nodded, bringing her eyes up.

"You're right, Bastrii. I… I can't just be content with my fate, and lean on you to do all of the heavy lifting. If I want to make it home, it's on my shoulders to make it." She swelled with determination, facing the bitter cold. "I'm the leader of my fate. I have to take care of myself, and stop pushing us myself so hard. If it means pacing myself, then so be it!"

Braehoof joined as well, smiling. "I knew Bastrii would cheer you up. This is a journey, not a race – focus on staying alive, not the destination. One trail at a time."

With renewed vigor, the group forged on ahead. The daunting cliffs leered ever steeper, the wind picking up into a howl on their backs. The sun began to set, as the eighth Monument approached.

"_'__Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The Seventeen disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built his home on the Throat of the World.'_" Bastrii read, pressing up the path. "We're close. The temple… we're almost there."

Excitement began to bud in her veins, her pace doubling what was once a steady walk, into a definite jog. Four miles into the air, the night sky reigning in.

Rounding another short cliff face, it finally stood before them. The dark stone monastery gleamed in the growing moonlight, the Nordic arches and strong stone walls a daunting imposure on the mountain side. It hung high into the breaking wind, towering over the group. A few braziers littered the path onwards, lit with glowing embers that spiraled into the sky and up across the distant stars.

The cobble path stretched upwards to the steps, each holding the weight of past visitors on the stone. An ornamental chest sat between the two flights, surrounded by dozens of frozen flowers and small offerings. Two heavy set doors sat locked on either side, the cliff to the left showing the distant town of Whiterun, miles below. Like a speck in the wind.

Midna looked onwards, her voice catching in her throat. It was an impressive hall, built miles above the rest of the world. Something inside seemed to draw her, as if fate itself was begging for her exploration.

The trio made their way to the impressive gate. Braehoof was the first to speak.

"From your memories Bastrii, didn't the old man ask that you leave the offerings in that large chest?"

The Elf snapped out of her stupor, her mind tearing to the heavy set wood. She nodded, turning to the cart and quickly adding the heavy bags to the container. She looked around for a stable, saddened to see that no such one exists.

"Looks like you'll have to follow us inside." Bastrii said, stroking Braehoof's neck. He nodded, Midna joining the Elf's left.

"What can I do to help?" She said, motioning to the cart. The Bosmer smiled.

"Help me take off the cart and saddlebags. I don't think we need to worry about anything being stolen up here."

The duo quickly worked on dislodging the equipment from Braehoof, leaving him in his soft leather pelts. He mewed softly, happy to be free of his burdens. Giving a little bounce, he nibbled on a chilly flower on the way up the stairs with the two.

Bastrii raised her fist, ready to slam it into the entrance. Before it could land, the door cracked open. An old man stood before them, his long gray beard hanging low across his chest as his wise eyes looked her over. His robes billowed in the wind, taking in the women.

He spotted Midna, and his eyes shrank. But he quickly blinked it away, coughing before speaking.

"So… a dragonborn appears, in this moment, at the turning of the age." He said, in his rugged, elder voice. Bastrii nodded, and he invited the group inside.

Braehoof approached the door, and the Elder raised his hand. "We do not allow wild animals into the Monastery."

"I am a wild animal no longer." Braehoof said flatly. Bastrii was expecting the Graybeard to jump, to say something, to be… shocked, but he merely nodded.

"You have accepted the Soul of Man, then?" He said, eyes blank.

"Yes."

"Then you are welcome, in the presence of the Dragonborn."

He opened the door wide, Braehoof nodding as he joined Bastrii and Midna. He had to tilt his head to let his large antlers slip past, but he was happy to be out of the cold. The three stood quiet, the Graybeard stepping forward to the stairs.

"How did you know I was Dragonborn?" Bastrii asked, confused.

"We heard the Voice carry up the mountain. But, none-the-less, a demonstration is in order. Let us hear the Voice once more."

Bastrii nodded, breathing in. The dragon blood boiled within her, and she spoke – "_Fus!_"

A shock wave of power rippled across the Graybeard, but he stood strong. Only the faintest hint of weakness showed, his poise unbroken.

"Very well. I am Master Arngeir, I speak for the Greybeards. We are honored to welcome the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will teach you how to use your gift, and follow your destiny."

"My destiny?" Bastrii asked. Was there more to it than that, than slaying a few dragons and saving the world?

"That is for you to discover. We can show you the way, but not the destination. You have shown that you are Dragonborn, you have the inborn gift. But, do you have the temperament and discipline to follow the path laid out before you? That remains to be seen."

He led the way up the steps, beckoning them with a hand. Midna wanted to speak, to ask questions – but something told her that now would be a poor moment.

"Without training, you have already taken the first steps in projecting your voice into a Thu'um, a shout. Now let us see if you are willing, and able, to learn."

Several more Greybeards stepped from the wings of the Monastery, joining Arngeir as they journeyed deeper into the chilly stone halls. They entered a cavernous lobby; a large square standing center in the temple, several paths leading out into the deeper wings and resting chambers of the Graybeards. Ancient Nordic arches and twisted stone contorted into architecture from ages past, a dozen clay pots cluttering the room. They held varying supplies, from lumber to tenders, herbs for braziers and ordinary linens.

The group gathered into a circle, Arngeir directing Bastrii to step to the front. Braehoof and Midna waited in the distance, watching curiously.

"When you shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Thus, your dragon blood gives you the inborn ability to learn words of power. All shouts are made up of three words of power. As you master each word, your shout will become progressively stronger."

He nodded to another wise man, who stepped forward.

"Master Einharth will now teach you Ro, the second word in unrelenting force. Ro means 'balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus – force – to focus your Thu'um more sharply."

Einharth raised his hand to the ground, closing his eyes. He spoke in a hoarse whisper, as if trying to contain his power. To hone it into a burning essence, which formed embers in the ground before Bastrii.

The Elf stepped forward, inspecting the word. It burned brightly in the stone, her eyes adjusting to the glare as it seared into her mind. She breathed in a gasp, the draconic text vanishing in an instant. She felt the text etch into her very being, the word 'Ro' written into her soul.

Ro. Balance.

She nodded to Arngeir, who continued.

"You can learn the power of the word through practice and meditation. That is, how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb the soul and knowledge from slain dragons immediately. As part of your initiation, master Einharth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'."

The same gray cloaked man bowed his head, his fingers lacing beneath his long robe as the power flitted freely from his being. The flying strands of light soaked into her core, searing her head with its power. It reminded her much too clearly of when she absorbed her first dragon soul, back in Whiterun.

Arngeir waited for her to catch her breath, his eyes piercing into her.

"Let us see how you have learned this new word. If you will, Dragonborn."

She looked up to the Elder, breathing in deep.

"_Fus…__ Ro!_" She shouted in her Thu'um, her throat grinding as the voice amplified immensely. The shock wave honed in to a close ring of light blue energy, slamming into the prepared Graybeard. He stumbled backwards several inches, but maintained his footing with a grunt.

"Impressive," he said through the strain. "Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. You have journeyed far to reach here – the hours of _twilight_ have long since past." His eyes flicked to Midna, the Imp's heart stopping in her chest.

"We shall continue your training at the break of first light. For now, we must speak in your chambers for the evening. The three of you may follow me."

The Graybeards slowly filed out of the room, as Arngeir led the way up the steps less traveled to their right. Midna darted to Bastrii's side, sticking close as the trio followed closely.

For a few quiet moments, only the sound of Braehoof's hooves echoed down the long hallway. He looked around curiously; he had never been in a Two-Leg dwelling before. The stone walls seemed so clean and orderly, refined – much more stoic than the free forms of nature.

They entered a distant chamber on the far corner, a room of four beds waiting for them. He closed the door shut behind the group, turning to Midna.

"So your people have returned, then, or am I out of touch?" Arngeir asked, his eyes honing in on the Imp. Midna blinked.

"Returned?"

"I may have stepped ahead of myself. You are a Twili, is that correct?"

Midna lowered her hood, sighing. "Yes. I'm looking to return home. I've been cast off by an evil sorcerer in another realm. I joined Bastrii to find my way."

He gave an exasperated sigh, the tension in his body easing.

"Am I right to guess that you are unaware of your people's history, here in Nirn?"

Midna stared at the old man, who ventured onwards. "Very well. A short history lesson, then, before I continue."

He lowered his hood, exposing his salt and pepper hair. He seemed more sagely, as he pressed his hands into the sleeves of his robe.

"Your people, the Twili as they are now called, hail from another realm referred to as _Hyrule_. In the times of Old, there was a portal to the distant world of Hyrule, forged by the Aedra under the Pact of the Three Goddesses. This was to exchange knowledge between worlds, bringing with it the founding of the Destruction Tree of Magic from the Hylians.

"The Hylians had formed a strong Alliance with the Chimer – a race of Elves of pure, almost golden skin that followed the prophet Veloth seeking religious freedom. This changed, with the Battle of Red Mountain."

He looked over Midna's ashen gray skin, her fierce red eyes meeting his.

"The Daedra Azura, the Goddess of Dusk and Dawn, cursed the Chimer and the Hylians who brought this deadly magic to the land of Nirn. She turned the fair, golden skin into an Ashen gray, and their eyes a piercing red. This formed the race of Dunmer, as you know today. And… for you, that formed the Twili. Cursed Hylians who returned to Hyrule. From that, the story is unclear – as Azura banished the Sacred Mirror to the plains of Oblivion, stained in the blood of the fallen.

"Of course, not many know of the true history of the Hylians. Few hardly speculate that such a race existed, as others had claimed the titles of scholars for the Arcane. Though I must ask – why do you take on the form of an Imp?"

Midna was too dumbfounded to speak at the moment. She didn't even know of this history. Yet here it all stood, splayed out before her.

"I was cursed by a Usurper to the Throne. He made me into this… creature. Now he's exiled me here, as if on a whim. Like I'm some kind of… toy."

Arngeir frowned. "It does not bode well that such powerful sorcerers lay across the plains of Oblivion, and are able to exile another to a long distant world with such ease."

He turned to the door, thinking. "Very well. We will commune in the morning. For now, rest is in order."

He slipped past the stone frame, the wood clinking shut. And the trio were left to their own devices once again.

* * *

By the Nine, writing this chapter was impossible. My laptop lacks a battery - because of this, when it gets unplugged, I lose a lot of progress. My cat accidentally unplugged it, which led to my libre office becoming corrupted. I had to update from 5.3 to 6.2, so I had to restart - twice. It really took a lot out of me to get this to work, considering how I now work six days a week as well.

I also lost a lot of progress on the bible for this, as THAT was corrupt too. So not only did I lose all of my writing, I lost all of my author notes as well. Which is impossible to keep a hold of nowadays.

I'm sorry for yet again writing Midna to be a little rude. I just don't have an amazing reason to why she would change immediately. It will come with time.

Other things to note that the lore here is mostly accurate - the Chimer were once fair skinned elves. They were the core developers of the destruction tree. When they lost the favor of Azura, she cursed the entire race to be _dark, gray skinned and red eyed shells of their former radiance._ Azura is literally the Daedra Goddess of Twilight, or the actual description - Dusk, and Dawn. This all aligns too perfectly.

Expect a bit of a delay on the next chapter. It's been... grating, lately.


	12. Chapter 12

Arngeir fumbled with the ancient documents, the endless supply of books before him timeless as Skyrim herself. He flicked through the pages, deciphering the ancient Nordic texts with ease.

It was late – especially for a wise Graybeard. This… _Dragonborn_, was a complex case. More so than the last Dragonborn to grace their halls – Tiber Septim.

But, to find the destiny of a Twili so precariously intertwined with the Chosen One, there must be prophecy to foretell this occasion. Something must be amiss. Or, at least, some sort of clarity in these trying times.

He flicked gingerly over the coarse pages of a long aged book, "_The War of the First Council"_. It was a historic battle, but there were few… _misgivings_ to be noted. In this copy, the original tale, it spoke of a less censored version.

His brows furrowed at the long script. It would be a night of dedication to the cause, but with patience, he might uncover the truth.

* * *

Midna paced the room, even as Bastrii tried her best to sleep. She tucked the pillow over her Elven ears, sighing as it proved fruitless. To Bastrii's left, Braehoof laid on twin conjoined beds – watching the Imp curiously.

"Maybe you should sleep on it? The mist of dawn will have eased your worries by then. It always has for me, when I was a lesser beast." He offered quietly. The Imp said nothing in return – quiet, as per usual. Always thinking, but rarely speaking when troubled.

She turned on her heel, looking up at Braehoof. She wanted to say something snappy, sarcastic, biting; But the words wouldn't form. Her mind was too heavy with the present burdens, on top of the fact that she was trying to change that aspect of her being.

"It's not something you sleep on." She said quietly. Her pacing soon continued, spurred on from the nap she took on the way. "How would you like it if a sage told you that the Elks could breath fire, or had the ability to fly – but it was lost over some God's power?"

Bastrii slowly sat up, sighing. Might as well join the conversation.

"Azura… She may be revered as a God by many, like the Dunmer and Khajiit – but Azura is still a Daedric Prince. To me, that means there isn't always beauty in her words, rather a two sided coin. I'm not even sure what a Daedra truly is – other than the fact that you shouldn't trust them carelessly.

Midna wracked her hands through her fiery hair, falling flat on the floor. "This changes everything. In my world, my people were banished for the misuse of great power. In this world, we were banished for – surprise surprise – misuse of great power. What really happened to stir such trouble? Who is this Azura really?"

"Well, Arngeir mentioned she's the God of Dusk and Dawn. Beyond that, I'm not sure. We'd have to find a library to figure it out, or hope Arngeir has a little more to say by tomorrow."

"God of Dusk and Dawn..." Midna whispered to herself, looking up to the ceiling. "It makes sense, then, I guess – to be banished to the Twilight Realm."

Bastrii blinked. "Hyrule is the realm of Twilight? Like… a plane of Oblivion?"

Midna realized she said too much. But at this point, why hide the truth?

"No. Hyrule… it's not even my home. The Twilight is my home. I was banished from both. It's… it's a long story. It's not one I like to share, for safety reasons – but at this point, I feel you should know the truth."

Midna slowly stood to her feet, floating towards the bed. She plunged down onto the soft sheets, sighing. "I come from the Twilight Realm, a place where I once believed – my whole life – that the Three Goddesses had banished my people to a long time ago. It was a calm, peaceful land – until Zant murdered the King and Queen, and seized the throne. He killed many, and banished me from my home on a whim. _After_ transforming me into this… _thing_.

"When I awoke, I was in the land of Hyrule. I'm a creature of darkness, so I hid in the shadows – but Zant had plans. He left the Twilight, not content with his Kingdom there, and he razed the Light World's Royal Castle. He plunged the world into twilit shadows – a terrible curse that turned the Hylians into spirits. But his destruction didn't end there.

"He brought chaos to the land. He froze rivers, he cursed fiery volcanoes, he robbed children from villages. And he abducted Link. That's when I met him – he was dragged into the Twilight, and he took on the form of a powerful wolf. He was captured, and brought to a jail cell in the Castle. I… at first, I freed him to be my slave. To help me obtain enough power to seek my revenge and usurp the imposter King. But… I started to grow feelings for him. He was a lot like you, in a way – and…" She sighed, holding her hand over her chest.

"As I obtained the final piece to my master plan, Zant found us. He wasn't happy with our work. It's… it all happened so fast. It's a blur to me, but… he took the relics I obtained, and demanded I join him. When I refused, he… there was light. Nothing but light. Blinding, scorching, soul burning light. I just remember pain, and the next thing I recall, is seeing you and that old man in the cabin. Your restoration magic gave me the essence of light I needed to recover, and from there, it's history."

Bastrii frowned at the long explanation. The Imp clenched at the sheets between her fingers, her honesty clear. It all clicked into place – the discomfort with speaking of her home, the general lack of knowledge, and… everything, it all added up.

"Alright. I have a few questions, but… I think it's settled, then. We kill Zant." She gave a crooked smile. Midna looked up to her and laughed.

"You? Killing Zant? Not gonna happen. Zant is somehow infinitely more powerful than you, and he gains more strength the more he conquers. It's like each land he puts under his thumb, the deeper his strength. And without me there to assist Link, and… not knowing what happened to him, I can only assume the worst. Hyrule may be lost." She frowned. It wasn't a pleasant thought – that Hyrule may be gone. But it was one that clung to her.

"It's what's really been giving me nightmares. Everything – it could all be gone. There could be nothing left, and I would return to ashes. And if Zant has the power and knowledge to send me here, then… what if he comes here, next?"

"Then he'll have to face two armies, hordes of dragons, the undead, and every single creature from here to the Ooze beyond life to seize every untamed land – not to mention every God, Daedra, and Deity that still prowls Nirn."

The words didn't do much to give Midna confidence. Her fear was still nigh overwhelming – but she held on, and hoped beyond hope that the Goddesses watched over Link. So she would still have something to come back to.

With the conversation dying off, and the other two tiring, Midna returned to her bed. She could feel her clothes sticking to her, so she shed them and slipped under the cozy sheets. Her heart weighed in her chest that night, and sleep didn't come without the usual onslaught of nightmares.

* * *

Midna's eyes fluttered open, finding herself far from the comfort of the sheets. Her head slowly lifted from the soft ground, fields of red roses surrounding her. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the weight behind her fists as her eyes cast about the massive, endless garden. In the distance, to her dismay – sat a wondrous city of pure silver. The twilight hung clear in the sky, a small cliff side showing a wonderful, mile long waterfall that trickled into delicate, mirror like puddles.

The air smelled of soft perfume, beautifully sculpted trees shaved to perfection lining a delicate path up the way. She went to stand, to explore – but suddenly pain struck her from her eyes. It felt like they were burning at the sight, burning out of her skull from the sheer beauty.

And then, she woke up. And the pain was gone.

"Midna? Are you okay?" Bastrii asked, gently shaking her. The Imp had formed a pool of sweat beneath her, soaking the sheets as she shot up. It dripped down her face and chest, the tiny puddle joining the sheets beneath her as she panted.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Let's get back on the road." She stood up, dysphoria hitting her. Weren't they still on the path to High Hrothgar?

Bastrii furrowed her brows in worry, reaching up for her hand. "Midna, we're already here. We spoke with the Graybeards last night, remember?"

Midna pulled her hand away in shock, her mind still rolling from the scarring images. When Bastrii didn't move, the panic began to settle – and her mind became clear once again.

"Right… Graybeards. Training. Let's go."

She fumbled with her jacket, grunting in frustration when the second button fell off. She tossed it to the bed, in a hurry to get the day moving. She grasped at the hood instead, tying it on. She wrapped the long, long scarf around her like a toga, then floated to the door.

Bastrii followed close, keeping an eye on her. Braehoof turned over in his bed, giving a bugle and a stretch.

"Is Braehoof coming?" The Imp asked. Bastrii shook her head.

"Let him rest. He'll probably know what happened before I even talk with him about it."

They gently clinked the door shut behind them, making their way up the corridor once more. The light of dawn had broken the horizon, Arngeir meeting them up the passage with a book in his hand.

"The dawn greets you, Dragonborn. Did you find the lodgings to your liking?" He asked, his face unwavering. He always seemed to keep a stock, sturdy frown – never once adjusting to a smile or more. Even when his eyes were dark with a lack of sleep, which Bastrii noticed.

"Yes, we all slept fine – but we have more questions." Midna said. Arngeir raised a hand, cutting her off.

"And they will be answered. For now, it's time to train. Follow me to the courtyard, Master Borri wishes to grant another boon."

He turned sharply on his foot, and pressed onwards. Midna glared and sighed. Best not push her luck. The duo followed closed behind, closing the iron door behind them. They entered the mountain-high snowfield in the back, several pillars and columns catching the eye on the snowy cliffs. Additionally, there sat an iron gate – built for what purpose, Midna wasn't so sure.

The next thing she noticed, was that the air seemed even thinner than before. Both the Elf and Imp quickened their breaths naturally, a little disoriented from the climate. Arngeir took no notice of this, as he pressed onwards. A group of Graybeards had already assembled, gesturing to each other with their hands. It confused the Elf, but she would ask questions later.

The brilliant dawn radiated in the distant sky, the Elder continuing. "We will now see how you learn a completely _new_ shout. Master Borri will now teach you, '_Wuld_', which means '_Whirlwind_'."

A new Graybeard stepped from the group assembled, performing much the same feat as Einharth; a quick gesture to the ground, and he whispered the word. Embers etched into the snow, glowing brightly before burning straight into Bastrii's mind.

_Wuld_. Whirlwind. The power of air and speed.

Arngeir nodded in approval of the two, Borri clasping his hands together and transferring the power directly to the Elf. She gritted her teeth, closing her eyes as the knowledge of _Wuld _infused into her spirit.

"Master Wulfgar will show you Wuld. A simple demonstration. If you will, Master Wulfgar."

He nodded to another Elder, who stepped from the crowd. The distant gate – which had served no purpose prior – swung open, and the Elder opened his mouth.

"_Wuld __Nah Kest__!_"

His body raced through the air, stopping several inches in front of the cliff face. Several rocks fell down the sharp edge, tumbling the miles down the mountain.

Bastrii gulped. How do you control such speed? He must have traveled quite a few yards before skidding to a halt – would he catch her if she fell?

"When the gate opens, duplicate it, Dragonborn." Arngeir said. Bastrii stood between two stone pillars, adrenaline pumping freely through her veins.

The gate clinked open, and Bastrii inhaled. "_Wuld!_"

The world shrank in her eyes, her body projected forward faster than she thought possible. The land around her dimmed as her eyes shrank back into her head, tumbling across the step of the gate. The heavy iron bars went to close, thumping her on the head when she attempted to stand.

Midna laughed, but seeing as no other Graybeard twitched a smile, she quickly settled down.

"Your quick Mastery of a new thu'um is astonishing. I've heard stories of of the abilities of dragonborn, but to see it myself..." Arngeir said, Ignoring the Imp behind him. Borri helped the poor elf to her feet, rubbing her head through her green hood.

"You are now ready for your last trial, Dragonborn." He said, as Bastrii approached. "You are to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. That is, after our commune."

He led the way up the steps, the other Graybeards following behind. Bastrii hesitantly joined them, as Midna was more than eager to float up the steps by the sagely man.

"Alright. I need to know everything. What my people were doing here in Skyrim, who this Azura is – _everything. _Absolutely everything." She said, the Elf catching up. The trio headed indoors, breathing in the deeper air. Something about this place must be enchanted to keep it functional within.

"Join me in the dining hall. We will speak quietly, to not interfere with the meditation of the others. I will try to entrust all that I can to you, before you leave. I have something of grave importance to give you, in particular, lost Twili."

They followed him into another wing, a plain table covered in dozens of books, plates, cups, and the occasional hunk of preserved meat or cheese. It all seemed very bare bones, but then again, Graybeards weren't very ornate to begin with.

Arngeir sat down, gesturing to his guests to take a seat. Bastrii did so without hesitation, her world a bit off balance after using _Wuld. _Midna, on the other hand, refused to sit so easily.

"First, I will go over the Pact of the Three Goddesses, so that you may clearly understand why the mirror was created." He sat the book in front of him, clearing his throat.

"Before the dawning of the first era, Nirn was yet to be. The land had not formed, the seas had not risen, and the mountains had not towered. Until the time of Interplay between Anu and Padomay, which brought about the beings of Aedra. Thousands of Anuic et'Ada, who helped shape the world as we know it."

He turned the passage, his aged eyes flicking over the ancient Nordic words.

"The construction of Nirn was an essence trap for the Aedra; to form this world, their power began to wane and they slowly lost their great forces. To fill the last depths of Nirn, they took on the Earth Bones under Y'ffre's Guidance, and with it came the rules and laws of physics and magic we all understand today. But, an Aedra named Magnus had grown fearful over the loss of his power – and abandoned Nirn in this time, piercing the void and returning to Aetherius. This hole became the Sun as we know it, and brought with in the magical Energy that resonates within every creature of Mundus.

"Many more of these Aedra, who saw to Magnus as inspiration, followed him into the void. They pierced the infinite black, forming the stars of the heavens.

"Some of the Aedra gave pieces of themselves entirely to the creation of the world – these became the Eight Planets of Mundus, and were respected as the Eight Divines. But three powerful Aedra, in the end, felt they had no place left in this home they helped create. Seeing their options limited, they devised a plan.

They wished to follow Magnus into Aetherius, but they love for this world. So they left a mirror behind, to reflect on Nirn's beauty – and to one day, have a mirror image of it for their own. They vanished from this world, promising that one day, their descendants would return. Thus forming the Pact of the Three Goddesses, now a distant legend long forgotten. Except, of course, through a few select books." He tapped the pages in front of him with a finger.

"The legend entailed that one day, their chosen people would travel through the mirror. To bring with them the wisdom of their minds, the courage of their hearts, and the power of Aetherius through their understanding of it. The three Aedra – Farore, Nayru, and Din, had sworn to see this world once more in peace. But, as all things do in Nirn, it ended in conflict.

"You see, the Aedra didn't decide to create Nirn of their own essence – the Trickster God Lorkhan, or _Shor_ as referred to by us Nords, had coerced them all into creating the Mundus. When the Aedra began to wane, and after the departure of the Three, the remaining Eight Divines met at Direnni Tower to discuss his punishment for bringing the End of the Aedra. And it was swift – Lorkhan had his heart cut from his body, and his being was exiled to the void.

"The God Trinimac was the executioner in this essence – and he turned the corrupt organ to Auri-El, who fired it into the vast sea with his mighty bow."

Bastrii perked up at Auri-El. It was one of the few Gods she knew of – the Time Dragon, King of Gods. Without him, Time would have never began.

"Where the heart landed, it pierced and rent the earth; forming the Red Mountain. This ends the story of the Gods, and follows the loss of the Dwemer."

He turned the next page, his tired eyes drilling into the text.

"The dawning of the First Era had come, and the races of Tamriel began to form from the Earth Bones of the Aedra. Of these, were Men and Mer. Most notably for now, the Chimer, Dwemer, and Nords.

"The Dwemer established themselves in Morrowind, and built a fortress known as Vvardenfell at the heart of the Red Mountain. The Dwemer united with the Chimer to expel the Nords from their land. But they weren't strong enough to overtake them on their own. That's when they discovered the mirror, and with it, the first Hylian – and, a great understanding of Destruction magic followed. They amassed an army, and pushed the Nords out of Morrowind, claiming it as their own.

"The Hylians looked nearly identical to the Chimer at the time, and were considered Cousins of the Far Blood. So much so that they were simply recognized as such on the battle field, which led to them being expressed as one whole race. This is why only a few direct documentations exist.

"The three races Co-Existed peacefully under the banner of Resdayn for a time, until the Chimer General Indori Nerevar learned that the Dwemer had found the Heart of Lorkhan and sought to use it to empower the Numidium and destroy the Chimer – and ascend to Gods themselves. The Hylians, who had already broke the Pact of the Three once, joined the Chimer in defense of their Blood Cousins.

"From there, we entered the War of the First Council. It was a battle of five armies; Nomadic Ashlanders, Dwemer, Chimer, Hylians, and Nords – who sought to reclaim Morrowind – brought death and destruction to the houses of Chimer and the Secular Dwarves.

"This led to the total disappearance of the Dwemer. After the battle, Sothas Sil – a Chimer at the time – attempted to use the Dwemer Tools that were meant to attach the heart to the Numidium to obtain Godhood. It was successful, and he convinced Lord Vivec the Warrior Poet and Lady Almalexia to join him. These three formed the Tribunal, which overtook the worship of the Daedra in the Chimer.

"This infuriated the Daedric Prince Azura, who turned her wrath to the remaining Chimer. She cursed them, stripping them of their golden skin, leaving them gray and ashy. Their eyes turned from gold or silver, to a pained red. And when she found the Hylians, she was doubly enraged.

"She cursed these people much the same way, and banished them from all of Nirn. There, they returned to Hyrule – never to be seen again. She claimed the Mirror as her own, and brought it to her Plain of Oblivion – Moonshadow. Legend has it that it rests in her bed chamber, where she gazes upon it to see the beauty of her world, and reflect on it."

Midna collapsed onto the table. Her arms fell by her sides, and her head slumped forward. Slowly, Bastrii's hand slipped forward, patting her on the back.

"Do not lose hope, as there are many ways to reach a plain of Oblivion. Moonshadow, in particular, can be accessed through several means. The easiest way is through a direct gate to the world – but none if few exist, at any given moment. But, if you can somehow reach a more readily accessible plain, you might be happy to find that they all exist in the same place; like a second Nirn. Sovngarde, for example, is one of the closest plains to Moonshadow."

Midna slowly floated up, returning to Bastrii's side. She rested her hands on her right shoulder, looking her in the eyes.

"Bastrii, I know I don't deserve it… but… will you stay by my side, and help me find my way home? Please?" She asked quietly.

Bastrii's heart weighed heavy in her chest. When she originally took her on as a companion, the farthest she was willing to go was High Hrothgar. It was in the realm of possibilities. It was feasible, if not an immense challenge.

But… this…

She looked Midna deep in the eyes. A soft spot in her heart cracked, and she sighed.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do. But the dragons come first – before anything else in this world, the Dragons must be vanquished. And for that, we will need Jurgen's Horn." She faced Arngeir again, nodding. "Can you show me where I might find his tomb, on the map?"

She placed her large, well designed parchment on the table. The Graybeard withdrew a quill from a nearby Ink pot, squinting as he leaned in close. He place a small circle over the location, returning his utensil.

"And before you go, there is one last thing I might give you. Specifically you." He said, gazing at Midna. The Imp floated closer, curious as he slid his hand into his robe.

Gently, he withdrew a small, round orb. It glimmered in the light, bound by a short band. Small patterns of gray etched the blue surface, Midna's eyes lighting up.

"It… is that?"

"I believe this to be from the Twilight Realm. It was recovered during the first skirmish of the First Empire, year 416." He placed the mysterious item in her hands, when she immediately clenched to her chest.

"With this, I… I can cast the spells of my homeland again." She said to Bastrii, holding the relic up before her. "It can only store so much power, it has to recharge between uses. But… this means I can do something essential. You'll see."

"What is it?" The Bosmer asked, looking over the strange ball.

"It's a Sol. It's a grand source of power in the Twilight Realm, though this is more of petty version to the major ones at home." She draped the ornament over her neck, beaming. In this moment, her eyes gleamed with hope. Hope that maybe they'll make it, just maybe.

"One more thing, Arngeir." Bastrii said, standing to her feet. "I'm not the best with Gods or Goddesses, nor the Daedra, but… I found this." She withdrew the rounded rock from her bag, the peculiar shape making it seem as if it was crafted by hand. She held it before her, as the Graybeard inspected it.

"This is the Beacon of Meridia, the Daedric Prince of Living Energies. She's known as the Glister Witch, and hosts powers of light. While not truly evil, with all Daedric Princes, you must exhibit caution. Her hate for those who go beyond death supersedes her patience.

"I can not offer advice beyond this, Dragonborn. Your destiny is yours to behold, thus the power of this relic rests in your palm."

The Bosmer laced her fingers around the stone, nodding. It returned to her pouch, and Midna had one more question.

"Okay, hold on – Bastrii doesn't know what Daedra truly are. Can you explain? I'm curious now."

"Daedra are Aedra who refused to take part in the creation of Mundus. They were not fooled by Lorkhan's deceit, thus they still retain the full breadth of their power. Only a select few of these living Gods remain. The word Daedra translates roughly to '_not our ancestors'_ in Old Aldmeri. Aedra, the inverse, translates to '_Ancestors'. _Though I must admit – I'm a bit surprised to learn that you do not know this, Dragonborn. May I ask why?"

Bastrii frowned, sighing. "My father was an advent worshiper of the Pact, and my mother worshiped Talos. Because of this split, they didn't want me to choose between the Nordic Pantheon and the Bosmeri Pantheon, so I only really know of those two." She scratched the back of her head. "I have heard of other Gods, just only in passing. I didn't even know how this world was made until you told me. I just knew that I was born from the Green."

Midna scrunched her brow. "In Hyrule, everyone knows of the Three Goddesses. There are other Gods, of course – of distant lands or of old lore, like the Goddess of Time, but those are an obscurity."

Bastrii sighed. Maybe she was a bit sheltered. Her ears twitched, feeling the connection to her companion shifting in the distance. It was a new feeling – like a bridge had formed in her mind. It wasn't a very welcome emotion, as she felt like her privacy was at risk. But the door swung open in the distant wing, and she knew Braehoof was on his way.

"What's wrong, Dragonbird?" Midna teased, smiling. "Embarrassed that you're just now learning all of this?"

"No, just… a new feeling." Braehoof rounded the corner, joining them at the table. Midna floated onto his back, excited.

"Are you ready to go, Braehoof?" She asked, giddy with excitement. The Elk yawned, slumping his head onto the wooden platform. He nosed at a piece of bread, closing his eyes.

"Ready to go back to sleep. That was comfier than I thought. Much better than hay, or grass. It must have been the pillows. They were surprisingly snug for things filled with feathers."

Bastrii gently scratched at his head, the Elk smiling as he closed his eyes. He was more like a large cat in this moment. She was pretty sure if she kept it up, he would start purring.

"When's breakfast? I would love to try some bread, or even… dare I say it, meat. Your memories made it seem so delicious." He asked, tilting his head to look up to Bastrii.

"Let's not make you eat anything you'll regret." Bastrii smiled. "But breakfast is definitely an option. May we have some before we leave, Arngeir?"

The sagely man nodded, motioning to the table. "Have your fill. This is what's left of our early breakfast; best not to let it go to waste. I will retrieve bowls of stew for you to enjoy."

The Elk lazily shuffled forward – silly enough, he dragged his face against the table, reaching forward and nipping at a loaf of bread, until his prize was lodged firmly in his muzzle. Bastrii glared, grabbing at the other end of the chewy farm food.

"Hey now, don't eat the whole damn thing! Share with us!"

Braehoof growled, tugging back. "Mmf mm mff!" He said, through his muffled mouth.

"I don't care what he said, he didn't mean pig out on a whole loaf of bread you fat cow!" Bastrii giggled, the Imp laughing behind her. Midna snatched a red apple from the table, holding it in front of the Elk's eyes.

"Look Braehoof, look what I've got!" Midna teased, tossing it between her hands. The Elk bit through the loaf, chewing it up and swallowing in a mere instant. Bastrii fell back from the sharp movement, clutching the grain in her hands. She looked up to it with wide eyes, absolutely bewildered at the integrity of the bread and just how big of a bite the large Elk could take.

"So shiny…" Braehoof whispered, as Midna polished the apple. "May I have a bite?"

"Oh, I don't know… it looks pretty tasty." She giggled, hanging the apple in front of her. It floated above her finger, the Elk's eyes flicking between her and the food.

"Don't do it." Midna said, smiling mischievously.

"I'm gonna do it." He replied.

"Don't -" but Braehoof lunged forward, aiming straight for the apple. Before his teeth could even wrap around it, it vanished, and his chompers clacked against each other.

"Hey! No magic! That's not fair!" He whined, before realizing that Midna made it disappear. "Wait… how did you do that?"

Midna cracked her fingers, smiling. "Twili secret." She said, reaching behind the Elk's ear to withdraw the apple once again. Before he could react, the Imp had already taken a bite.

Arngeir returned with stew, and they enjoyed a quick breakfast before heading out. Bastrii helped fix Midna's buttons, so she could lace her coat up up again before reattaching the cart to Braehoof's back. Much to the Elk's annoyance, of course.

"Why must I be the beast of burden?" He complained, though he already knew the answer. Midna, on the other hand, had floated to the grand entrance of the Monastery. She drew her palms together, her eyes closed as she focused.

"Midna? What are you doing?" Bastrii asked, approaching her side. She didn't respond, a ball of black and orange magic flitting between her fingers.

She gave a shout, raising her hands to the sky. The ball zoomed upwards, before colliding with the distant cloud face. A small, round hole of blue and black formed where the ball exploded, before fading into near invisibility.

"Saving us… a return trip." She panted. "Ancient spells of my people. Magic like Levitation and Teleportation are our specialty."

"I think spells like that used to exist, here in Nirn. Maybe it had something to do with the Twili?" Bastrii wondered aloud, her keen eyes just barely able to distinguish the nearly invisible portal in the sky. "Do you make those all the time?"

Midna fluttered to the ground, clenching the Sol in her hand. "No. I don't. Usually I let Zant waste his energy forming them, then I steal them as my own." She said, breathing deep from the thin air.

Braehoof trotted towards Midna's side, lowering his head for her to climb on. Her fingers latched on to the Elk, and he gently slung her to his back. Settling in, they turned their minds to the road once more.

The return trip was much more steady than the initial journey, the 7,000 steps a much easier path down than a climb up. Midna had wrenched her Fused Shadow from her bag after a while, closing her eyes. It vanished into nothing.

Bastrii questioned it, and Midna gave a short answer.

"While I don't have my full powers, I still have the ability to banish and return objects from the void. Unfortunately, it seems as if I can't reach for the Items I've obtained in Hyrule, except for one – but that seems irrelevant now." She said, inspecting the cart. Her keen eyes looked over the bags, picking up a heavy sack of grain. It vanished before Bastrii's eyes, and Midna groaned.

"Give me a few hours, it's a very powerful spell. Even with the Sol, it takes a lot of energy." She said. They trekked downward still, fast and steady.

Each hour the cart found itself lighter and lighter, as Midna worked on turning objects to the void. As they made their first camp, she flopped on a rock, breathing in deep.

"Is it just me, or is the air thicker here?"

"It's definitely thicker. We've made nearly a mile worth of progress down. If we were scaling a mountain without paths, this would take at least a month to accomplish." Bastrii said. Midna snapped her fingers, and returned only a few items from her storage. Three logs, and a sack of grain.

"By tomorrow afternoon, we wont need the cart anymore." Midna said, Bastrii quickly putting together a fire. With a stew slowly forming in the pot, her attention turned to the bolts of cloth she purchased from the Khajiit traders in Ivarstead.

"What are you making?" Midna asked, setting out a bag of grain for Braehoof.

"Something special." She smiled, stitching slowly and carefully to keep things orderly. When she tired of her work, she turned to her own armor – repairing an arrow sized hole with the many links she procured. Then, she fiddled with the pliers – turning link after link into a chain, which bound together in rows.

The night closed in, and the group went to bed with few complications. Morning was swift on the horizon. The camp was undone, and the journey resumed. Except now, Midna had returned the last of the items to the void – rendering the cart useless and abandoned.

Braehoof gave a happy stamp, as Bastrii mounted him once again. "Finally! We can make real progress now." He said, as Midna sat on the hind end of the saddle. Their speed nearly tripled as Braehoof took charge, trotting freely down the mountain. Occasionally, he would make an elegant leap and skip a flight of stairs entirely – or pass a section of the road, further reducing their trip.

"At this rate, we'll make it by early dawn tomorrow." Bastrii smiled, scratching behind Braehoof's ears. He chirped but said nothing, eager to leave this snowy place and strip the pelts from his torso.

Night began to reign in, and in favor of saving septims, Bastrii elected to construct camp above the town. They were still at least half an hour off on foot, but the air was deep and rich, and they had no reason to barter seeing as they still had food to spare.

"We can hunt on the road north – it's best to stay moving, and not waste time." Bastrii said, looking over the hamlet. It seemed so quiet tonight, turning to work on her project. The distant smoke of hearths littered the twilit sky, the Elf forming a sleeve on a new shirt. Midna watched the stars, noting the massive moons above and the distant planets that hung in the air.

"So… those are the Eight Divines, then?" Midna asked. Braehoof nodded.

"I recall the conversation well – at least, from Bastrii's memories. Those are the Eight Divines. That would make Talos the Ninth, a man who turned immortal and rose to Godhood through the power of the Dragon blood."

Bastrii blinked. She didn't ever share that information, did she? Did… did he see her past memories, as well? She flushed with embarrassment. She had done some… rather peculiar things, in her Burning Years through Adulthood. Hopefully Braehoof didn't see that side of her.

If he did, he didn't let on.

Bastrii pricked her finger on the needle, wincing. "Ow." The Elk twitched his hoof in response, feeling a tinge of the pain.

"Maybe it's time I head to bed." Bastrii said, tucking away her work and returning to the tent. Midna yawned, stretching.

"I guess there's no point in staying up then, huh?" She said, finding her own small mat in the shelter. She shuffled under the sheets, pulling off her armor and hood lazily. Her small gloves and little boots resting on top of the makeshift clothes.

Braehoof was the last to file in – laying against Bastrii's side for comfort. The Elf sighed in content, wrapping her arms around his neck in a warm hug. It was soothing, having something to hold like this – and the Elk clearly didn't mind.

The night closed in, and the campfire wore away into the early morning dawn.

And with dawn, came fire and death.

* * *

I had a lot of trouble writing this section. Not only did I have to scrounge through several wikis on the matter, but it was really hard to piece the actual lore together in order. I had to cut passages out, move pieces around - it was a giant mess to deal with. It wore really heavily on me, and the second have of this chapter suffered a bit because of it. Sorry, I tried to salvage it - but I'm just so exhausted all the time, work is killing me. I feel like I'm going insane.

But I don't want to stop writing. I enjoy writing this story - I just wish the lore wasn't so complicated. There is no exact tome that explains the full history, only pages that have a fifth of the whole story. I even had to shorten the lore, three times, because it was stretching much too long for its own good. If it seems a little butchered, I did revise it a couple of times to try and fix it. But for now, my brain hurts. I think it's time to rest. Thanks for sticking with me.


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